


Black Flag

by lightsaberking



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Dragons, High Fantasy, Kingdoms, M/M, Magic, Mermaids, Pirate AU, Some OC's - Freeform, broganes, hints of steampunk, lots of magic, mythical creatures, reupload!!!, things will be explained as the story goes on, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 70,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaberking/pseuds/lightsaberking
Summary: (This is a reupload from my old story Black Flag. More info in the beginning notes!)The world is full of magic, some good; most wicked. Keith is making his way north to find his brother but along the way he enters a world full of adventure, danger, and brutal desire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YO!! 
> 
> First things first: I'm SO sorry to those of you who were reading/following this story for taking it down with no warning a while ago. My blog on tumblr (previously lightsaberqween) got hacked and my password/email for that account and my archive were the same. Out of fear (idk if it was rational) for my entire story being stolen and/or unwillingly deleted, I took it down myself. But after much (much) debate, and encouragement from friends, I've decided to reupload it and start over on tumblr, giving it another chance. This version is mostly the same, though there are edits/corrections and one or two plot changes. 
> 
> Seconds things second: Chapters will be uploaded every few days (or whenever I get a chance tbh). I want to be sure this story is fun for everyone. I've put a lot of time and love into this, so I sincerely hope that you enjoy it! 
> 
> <3

 

 

☼

 

The tavern is ridiculously loud. 

 

Keith scrunches his nose when he enters through the swinging door, taking in the dim firelight and boisterous chatter. Drunken men and women, outlaws of the worst variety, lounge at bar stools and around tables of aged wood, beers sloshing about the place as they shout and laugh. Some argue, probably over lost games of poker or escorts, Keith is sure.

 

He strides in, an air of confidence only newly arisen as he feels the weight of the stolen medallion resting in the pocket of his dark cotton pants. His boots are scuffed and rest easily on his calves, the laces tightened to keep his pants snug within them. 

 

The crowd in the bar pays him no mind as he makes his way to the man sliding drinks before him. A cigar rests in the corner of his mouth, the lit tip glowing like a beacon. Musky smoke billows into Keith's face when he finds an open spot at the bar, careful not to bump into anyone already several drinks in. The bartender eyes him like one would a lost child. 

 

"Water." Keith grunts, ignoring the look from the man beside him. 

 

Instead, he meets the bartender's gaze; steel against old copper. 

 

The bartender nods once before pouring the water into a large stein, one that's probably usually filled with alcohol. He gulps it down and pulls three coins from his pocket, the silver metal hitting the counter in sharp little rings of sound. He closes his eyes for just a moment, willing the sticky heat on his skin to fade. There are fans on the ceiling, old rickety things that push small bits of air toward him. Nodding for a refill, he pulls his long hair back and ties it with a red piece of cloth from his wrist, letting the warm air hit the nape of his neck.

 

"Where ya' travelin'?" The bartender finally asks, watching as Keith begins to drink just as ravenously as before. 

 

With a swipe of the back of his hand against his mouth, Keith answers, "Nowhere."

 

"Nowhere can be many places." The bartender says, pouring a new drink for a different patron, the amber liquid foaming against the rim of the stein. 

 

Keith shrugs before letting his shoulders sag, the ache in his legs resonating throughout his entire body. He needs sleep and lots of it. For five weeks he's been walking, stopping by bars and inns, hitching rides with those that showed him mercy and spared a horse. Five weeks and he isn't any closer to his destination than he thought he would be. 

 

The bartender doesn't ask again, instead choosing to pour him a beer. Keith watches the bubbles rise to the top, watches the condensation slide to the bottom. He quickly chugs it all, thanking the man with another few silver before allowing his head to fall against his folded arms.

 

 

☼

 

 

"Drink up, boys!" A voice calls out, forcing Keith's stinging eyes to open against the bright tavern lanterns.

 

 _It must be well into the night,_ he thinks.

 

He doesn't raise his head even as he feels a new presence beside him. Dark brown hands slide coins to the bartender in his peripheral, the sound sharp in his ears.

 

"Rum, would ya'?" 

 

The bartender grunts, eyes wary, and Keith feels his own body tense. It's rare, he knows, for a bartender to take such caution. They're more than used to fights, to dangerous people raising weapons in their business. 

 

But with this reaction, Keith can only assume that this man is dangerous. 

 

Slowly, Keith lifts his head and straightens his back, keeping his eyes forward as if he were simply checking out the assorted barrels lining the wall; minding his own damn business. 

 

It doesn't work. 

 

"You look like you need a drink or two more." The man says, obviously directing his observation at Keith. 

 

Keith hesitates, wondering if perhaps he should pretend that he suddenly can't hear. Wondering if maybe he should feign a stomach virus and make for the door, hand to mouth in a dramatic show of illness. 

 

Instead, foolishly, he decides to risk a glance. 

 

He expects hideousness, a person full of blemishes from opium or a gouged eye followed by a trail of flies. Much to his surprise, the man looks like he'd just arisen from the sea. A fabled siren among them, blue eyes match the waves brushing the coastline. A lone tattoo runs along the side of his neck, an intricate pattern that reminds Keith of something ancient, something important. 

 

He looks away and clears his throat, "I uh, I've drunk my fill."

 

The man chuckles, a sound lighter than Keith would expect, and finally picks up his drink. It's quiet between them for a moment, the kind of tense silence that usually rises between two strangers and it lasts long enough for Keith to turn his head once more. He watches the liquid slowly disappear from the man's stein, the bobbing of the his throat hinting at dehydration. He takes in the dark weathered coat and shirt beneath, not daring to look lower. 

 

The man slams his stein down, letting out a holler and receiving plenty back. Keith turns to see a new group of people having filled the tavern, all dressed in leathers and boots, some with beards and metal appendages. When he looks back at the man, he feels his muscles clench. He's much closer, close enough for flame to reflect in his irises. 

 

Keith leans back, debating if he should risk shoving the guy away.

 

"Name's Lance." He eventually says, deciding to lean away himself. 

 

He grabs another glass and takes a few hearty chugs. 

 

Keith doesn't reply, instead deciding to finally stand and make his leave. He's had enough. The tension in the air has spiked, people have become fidgety- conversations louder at the expense of potential fights breaking out any given moment. But before he can make it out, after shoving through the horde of increasingly drunk men and women, Lance speaks again. He must have followed Keith, something that doesn't sit very well with him. 

 

"If you're looking to get lost somewhere," Lance says, "there's a ship leaving port in three hours."

 

Keith stops in his tracks, picturing the ache in his legs leaving, the dryness of his throat quenched by frequent beer and water. He pictures a way out of this blasted city. 

 

When he turns around Lance is already walking away, his form being swallowed by the crowd. 

 

☼

 

The nights aren't cold but they aren't particularly warm either, instead it rests on Keith like a strange blanket. He's never cared much for the cold but growing up in the year-round heat of the desert has probably swayed his comfort levels by a large scale. He waits on the outcroppings of the harbor behind a large group of boulders above the sea. For hours he's been here, having already walked aimlessly along the shore, lost in his thoughts. The ships are spread out further ahead on the dock, loud voices drifting up to Keith's shadowy perch. 

 

He tries to catch a name, to cheat having to explore the harbor on his own. 

 

No luck. 

 

With a sigh, Keith makes his way down and around the rocks, one hand on his knife and the other on the strap of his travelling bag. Salty air tickles his nose but with it, resting just underneath, there is a new scent. A strange electricity running along his skin and against his body, as if the water had manifested itself to wrap around his veins. 

 

He recognizes the feeling. 

 

Keith knows magic exists. He's seen it himself in the strange people who make seasonal journeys through his city. He's watched simple, secretive way in which they wield it, small sparks lighting their fingers or making the sand twirl behind thdir feet. Though the magic had never been powerful it was easy enough to see that it was a part of them.

 

Keith had never been outside of the city of Branlin until now, with its raising slopes of scarlet sand and grand buildings of stone. The buildings disappear altogether in sand storms, the thick exteriors made for shelter and camouflage. Other than the blacksmith shop Keith found work in at the age of seven, he's never done any other trade. 

 

He only knows his blades and the sun, the feeling of sand hitting his flesh like pricks of molten metal. He's only found relief beneath sparse palm trees, from warm water sometimes held within his dirty hands or old rusty cups.

 

 _And who would have thought,_ he thinks now,  _that the ocean was so close all along._

 

He's getting closer to the docks and can hear the tide hitting the planks of wood, the noise fighting to be heard over the loud voices of the sailors. They don't pay him too much attention, as always, their hard gazes instead directed at the men and women winking and waving closer up the sandy hill. 

 

Trickles of a crew are walking toward the end of the dock ahead, to the portion least lit by the lanterns standing tall on either side. The flickering of the flames make shadows dance as Keith slowly follows them, recognizing a few faces from the tavern. 

 

He wonders if he should turn back and risk his chances on the open road again. If maybe he should go forward in solitude with only rumors leading him  north. 

 

However, before he can even begin to turn around, the pounding of footsteps racing toward him make the dock shake like a minuscule earthquake. Keith quickly pulls out his dagger, berating himself for how foolish he must look, for how dumb he feels. He should have known it was a trap. The man must have seen his bundle of coins, maybe even spotted the medallion in his pocket. Men in places like that surely know how to look for riches. 

 

He waits for hands to grab at him, punch him, pull knives against him. Instead, they pass him as if he were a ghost. They whoop and holler like beasts on the hunt, running toward the pitch black. Keith inches forward, trying and failing to catch the expressions on their faces as they pass. 

 

A loud sound assaults Keith's ears, as if one machine were grinding against another. Lights, blue and bright as starlight, shine before him in a monstrous beacon. 

 

"Get your asses up here!" He hears a shout, all too familiar, all too excited, "Let's go, boys!"

 

Keith runs the rest of the way forward, hand lifted to shield his eyes from the harsh light. A lone figure above blocks just enough of it for shapes to take a definite form. Lance is holding onto a thick rope, jacket flapping in the wind, eyes shining a dimmer blue than that extruding from the ship. The crew has begun to loosen the sails, to pull in the ropes and heavy anchor. Keith is so focused on the scene that he almost overlooks what should have been most shocking from the start. 

 

Engines of spinning red and orange are submerged beneath the ship, water undulating to create a flow of molten colors. And then the ship is rising, water falling away from the wood and metal like a great beast into the air. 

 

"Are you coming?" Lance calls out, a wicked grin lining his face. 

 

Keith is frozen, watching the glow of his eyes, studying the now outstretched hand. 

 

"Well?" Lance continues, glancing toward the edge of the dock. 

 

Keith follows his gaze. 

 

The ramp leading to the ship is being drawn in. 

 

He's taking too long. 

 

"Suit yourself!" Lance shouts, lowering his hand. 

 

He takes a long look at Keith before turning back to the crew, jumping to the deck and disappearing from the rail he'd been standing on. 

 

And as a huge flag raises above the ship, a large white skull and crossbones beating against the stars, Keith decides. 

 

With a huff and the shoving of his knife back into its sheath, he races toward the ramp. His feet hit the side of the ship with a loud thud and he reaches for something to hold onto, fearing he'll tumble into the new waves created by the enormous engines. 

 

Suddenly, a hand reaches out and grasps his own. 

 

As he meets Lance's eyes, he feels something akin to electricity race along his bones.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the playlist that goes with this story. (most of the songs are instrumental) 
> 
> [Black Flag](https://open.spotify.com/user/o5kzm1u1slfaqixf4tsm5yaom/playlist/23NXTPMwWjozQ5sdOmwmwX?si=6Bn6h8A2QQyKZScme9ym5A)


	2. Chapter 2

 

☼

 

 

Keith has heard of pirates. 

 

Nomads of the sea, invading port cities and towns to ransack gold and miscellaneous riches. Ferocious sea battles and the clashing of metal, the booms of canons echoing across the ocean. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he understood the significance behind the huge black flag before he'd even jumped for the ship. But if one thing is for certain, it's that he's never been one to think things through very well.

 

He remembers his brother lecturing him about it as they grew up, his voiced laced with humor and worry at Keith's feisty temper. 

 

Keith clears his throat and takes his hand away from Lance's, feeling the lurch of the ship move beneath him like a shifting tectonic plate. He stumbles forward as Lance stands taller, the once shining light of his eyes growing dimmer by the second. He nods to Keith once before turning to stride away, his boots heavy on the wood. 

 

Men and women rush around Keith, carrying on the hollering and chatter with excitement, some going out of their way to avoid his frozen form while others have no problem letting their shoulders slam into his. He begins to move after what feels like the hundredth push, stopping only when he reaches the bow of the ship. Turning, it's much easier to take in the entire scene.

 

Lance has taken control of the large helm, the shape of a giant wheel made out of metal protruding in one pegged circle. Keith notices that most of the ship is made of metal, save for the deck, and that it's cold against his skin. Tendrils of light run in one shooting direction, over and over in bright blue and yellow like the roots of a great tree laid flat. 

 

The sails are as black as the flag that flaps wildly in the wind, bigger than any cloth Keith has ever seen. As they rise away from the port the air grows cooler, the stars seeming to get even closer. 

 

Keith turns again to face the open expanse before him. 

 

The sight leaves him breathless. 

 

The ocean is as dark as the sky, the only point of light being the moon beams that hit the cresting waves. Keith leans against the rail and looks down as far as he can, past the large merfolk statue; hand raised to point forward, tail curled against the wind. The engines still shine as the ship rises, huge bursts of energy and heat creating crater-like dents along the surface of the water. 

 

Sprays shoot into the air, coating Keith's face in a fine mist. For a moment he allows his eyes to shut, for his mind to wander so that he can pretend he's soaring all alone. That he has wings and endless freedom, a blinking light leading him to his destination. 

 

The dream only lasts so long. 

 

"New boy!" Someone calls out, the tilt of her voice alerting him that she's from a different land. 

 

Just as his own voice hisses and curls with each word, clashing against those that litter the coastlines, hers differs in the way it rolls and dips. He turns to face the woman, her pale silver hair contrasting beautifully with her dark skin. She has two tattoos upon her forehead, the ink grabbing his attention almost immediately. He tries to peer closer but she snaps her fingers, ending any chance he has. 

 

"I'm Allura, first mate. I just got orders from the captain that you're to go below deck to meet with Hunk." She says, throwing a ringed thumb over her shoulder to indicate the entryway leading below. 

 

"Why?" 

 

The woman furrows her brows, "It's an order."

 

"Where's the captain?" Keith asks, looking for someone who resembles the title. 

 

Maybe a hulking man of muscle and beard or a woman with death upon her shoulder, a sneer taking the place of any hint of a smile. 

 

 _Or maybe_ , he thinks, _I've heard too many far fetched stories._

 

Allura looks at Keith as if he'd sprouted two heads, "You've met him already."

 

"Wait, what?" 

 

She rolls her eyes and grabs at his sleeve, turning to pull him along with her, "You're quite dense, aren't you? Just go to Hunk and see what you're to do. I'm sure you'll see the captain again soon enough." 

 

She looks at him for a moment longer, as if she were debating to continue. When she doesn't, Keith turns away first and shuffles below deck, listening to the hum of the engines. The sound is distant, no doubt lessened in volume by the thick metal floors and walls. He wanders around, shifting this way and that, looking for someone; _anyone_. 

 

"Hey!" He hears, turning toward the voice almost instantly, "I've never seen you before, did the captain send you down?" 

 

"Uh, yeah." Keith says, keeping his distance from the man fiddling with a blinking and whirring contraption. 

 

Oil coats his hands as he places a tool down and he practically towers over Keith when he stands, muscled legs keeping him steady as he makes his way forward.

 

"I'm Hunk." He says, pushing a swaying bunk away from his head, "I'm probably supposed to take you to the kitchen." 

 

He stalks past Keith with a brush of his shoulder, shoving his large hands into the pockets of his trousers and doesn't check to see if Keith follows. They take a second staircase down and Keith marvels at the expanse of the ship, at just how much can fit within. Barrels and crates line the walls, crevices housing steins and personal belongings littered about almost haphazardly. Above, swaying and creaking, are lanterns. Keith eyes the flickering flame, blue as the sea beneath them. 

 

Hunk catches him staring and smirks, "Magic." He says. 

 

Keith glances at him in question.

 

"We don't care for open flame below deck." Hunk explains, shrugging, "Too much wood between the metal. Match my shatterproof lanterns with some borrowed magic and you get the safest lighting fixtures in the five kingdoms. No spare fumes, no big kabooms!" He laughs, a sound that quickly becomes contagious, "Same with the engines spinning beneath us, you know. But leave them running just a tad too long and we'll most likely all be blown to dust."

 

He says it as if it meant nothing- as if he truly didn't worry about it. 

 

They finally arrive in an entryway and Keith is assaulted with the smells of clove and garlic, of rums and spices. 

 

Hunk breathes in deep and outstretches his arms as if to show off his home, "Welcome to my pride and joy!" He laughs again and struts to the opposite wall, turning a nob with a practiced twist. 

 

Water sprays down onto his hands, smelling slightly salty but less so than actual sea water. He washes away the stain of oil and grease, scrubs his large knuckles. After he turns the water off, he makes his way to a line of boxes and humming metal chests. He opens the lid of one, letting cool air brush past his skin and drift toward Keith. When he turns back his hands are full of cheeses and bread, a package of brown meat and a surprisingly hearty amount of vegetables. 

 

"Am I making food?" Keith asks, feeling a small amount of annoyance spike. 

 

He's not here to cook. 

 

"'Course not." Hunk snorts, laying out the ingredients on the counter top between them. 

 

He unwraps the meat and lays out the bread, quickly going about his business. Keith slowly takes a seat at one of the three stools on the other side of the counter; cautious. The quantity is large and it makes Keith's stomach grumble, hopefully not loud enough for the other man to hear. Hunk places the sandwich in front of Keith. 

 

"For me?" Keith asks, voice higher than he would like. 

 

When is the last time he'd eaten anything this large? This well made? And on a _pirate ship_ , no less. He wonders if the ocean and sun had already gotten to him, if he's hallucinating everything while being shackled to a sail post above.

 

Hunk nods and pulls out a large container full of water, "Capn's orders." He pours the drink into a simple wooden stein and pushes it toward Keith. 

 

Keith picks up the sandwich, feeling the surprisingly soft bread. He eyes it for just a moment longer before opening his mouth wide, almost moaning at the tastes that hit his tongue. Hunk grins and makes a sandwich for himself, moving even quicker than before. They eat in silence for a moment, Keith shoving the food down his throat like a some kind of starved desert beast.

  
“Thanks.” He eventually says around his full mouth.

 

  
Hunk nods, “Don’t expect private sandwiches whenever you want. After tonight, you’ll be eating when the rest of us eat.”

 

  
Keith nods, not worried about it. Not as long as he’s focused on the food before him right now.

 

“ _Hunk!_ ” Someone calls distantly, making the man roll his eyes.

 

“I’ll see you later.” He says, finishing off his sandwich and rushing out of the room, shouting back a playful threat.

 

  
The kitchen is quiet now, voices distant and footsteps seeming to echo around Keith but never quite near him.

 

Without a second thought Keith chugs down his drink and stands, eager to explore on his own.

 

  
☼

 

  
He inspects the rest of the kitchen and the crates outside of it, marveling at the amount of food and packaged goods they have, at the fresh water that seems never ending. He studies the blue flames, getting as close as he can to one that hangs rather low, wondering if they’re as hot as actual fire. He lets his fingers get close and indeed feels heat, but it seems contained, as if the flame itself would only be as warm as sand heated from the sun.

 

He runs his hands along the metal walls, feeling vibrations from the engines and enjoying the cool touch against his skin. He even goes a floor lower, taking each stair one at a time.

 

His boots make the stairs creak in a strange way, as if they were old.

 

Maybe they were.

 

  
The room is alight in the same blue flame as before when he reaches the bottom, only it's much dimmer.

 

He stops, eyes wide; incredulous.

 

Piles and piles of gold, metals, gems, statues, and riches layer the floor. He could wade in it if he wanted to. He could probably _swim_ in it. The light reflects off of the trove and shines on his own skin, like patches and pinpricks of starlight.

 

  
_Pirates,_  he reminds himself,  _I’m on a ship full of pirates._

 

  
“Have you taken anything?”

 

  
Keith spins and looks up the stairs, instantly recognizing the slender form. Lance has a hand on his hip, blue eyes no longer glowing, wild grin gone.

 

  
“No.” Keith says, glancing at the treasure behind him. “I didn’t touch anything.”

 

  
Lance hums and begins to walk down the stairs, eyes on Keith’s own. Keith doesn’t back away but he also doesn't try to push past him and return to the upper deck either. He simply waits, unsure of whether or not he should move at all. Lance is closer now and Keith can smell the night air on him, the open sky and toiling sea, things that scream: _dangerous._

 

  
“Are you the captain?” Keith asks, suddenly feeling his stomach tighten in a way it never has before.

 

Lance smirks, letting his eyes roam Keith’s dirty face.

 

  
“I am.” He says, walking forward again, making Keith take a few steps back, wondering if Lance’s intention was to push him into the sea of gold. He feels the same electricity as before, like his hairs should be standing on end similar to the way they would during a flashing desert lightning storm.

 

  
Lance stops to pick up stray coins, running them between his fingers. “And I'm the one in charge of this ship.” He continues, playful tone surfacing once more. “And _you’re_ not a pirate.”

 

  
“Obviously.” Keith says, crossing his arms.

 

"Your name, then?" 

 

Keith hesitates, wondering if he should make something up. But the option doesn't sit well with him, even if the person he'd be lying to probably lies more than anyone he'd ever met. 

 

"Keith." He admits, sliding his eyes away. 

 

  
“And what were you doing in a pirate’s tavern?” Lacnce asks, flipping a coin into the air that he'd seemingly picked up from the floor. 

 

  
“Traveling.”

 

  
“Oh?” He asks, “Where to?”

 

  
“Nowhere.” Keith says, mouth forming a grim straight line.

 

He wants to reach for the Medallion in his pocket, to make sure it’s still there. He glances down for a moment and Lance follows his gaze, raising a thin eyebrow.

 

  
Thankfully, he doesn’t ask anything else.

 

  
“Well,” He says instead, “You’re welcome to journey with us. But until you get off of my ship permanently, you’re a part of this crew.” Lance takes a small step back and lifts his hand to brush a piece of brown hair away from his eyes. “I have to warn you though.”

 

  
“Yeah?” Keith tenses, 

 

  
Lance drops his hand and smiles again, a sight as astounding as the flying ship itself. Keith wills his skin to stay cool, to keep from flushing an embarrassing red.

 

  
“I don’t pick up stragglers often,” Lance says, “But when I do, they always seem to have a habit of becoming... _attached_ to this ship.”

 

  
Keith has to stop himself from scoffing, from letting out a bemused laugh at the eerie admission.

 

  
Lance smirks and turns to walk back up the stairs, glancing back to study Keith with a swift sweep of his eyes,”Go find the showers, Keith. You need one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw this is my new tumblr if you're interested, I put updates there:  
> [lightsaberking](https://lightsaberking.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> ((( Super sorry for any mistakes, I wanted to upload this later but decided to just go ahead with it. )))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

 

 

☼

 

 

Keith is awake at dawn after four hours of restless sleep. The hammock he'd claimed still swings from his departure through the snoring and shifting crew mates. He makes his way up to the deck, listening as the air pushes against the sails in a manner that settles his nerves, like the billowing of hung sheets and clothes outside of his home.

 

  
He's always been an early riser. In the desert it's coolest just before dawn, when a swift breeze gently blows the sand across his feet. Now, the wind is even cooler, making him shiver in his fresh clothes. Hunk gave him a set that Keith imagines must have seen better days, but they're clothes nonetheless. Rubbing his arms and ignoring the chill on his bare feet, he walks to the bow of the ship as the first beams of morning light break across the horizon. He leans over the rail to watch the passing ocean below, surprisingly soft ripples shifting the water in tones of dark gray.

 

  
As the sun slowly makes its appearance in a palette of orange and pink and blue, he notices flocks of sea birds drifting beside the ship, white feathers flapping against the air currents. They remain close as he turns to survey the deck, his footsteps light without weight of his heavy boots. The steps leading to the helm loom in front of him and before he can think about it twice, he's making his way up.

 

  
The wheel is larger now that he's closer, the metal cold to his touch. He rests his hands on it, palms moving this way and that as it subtly shifts, controlled by a ghostly grip. It makes him want to take it apart, to learn its deepest functions before reconstructing it.

 

  
A door opens underneath the helm and closes in quick succession. Keith freezes, not expecting anyone else to be awake so early; even the man in the crow's nest, feet hanging idly from the tall perch.

 

Lance strides up the stairs, eyebrows furrowed as if in deep concentration. At the sight of Keith he relaxes, if only by the way his shoulders sag a bit more than they were.

  
"Oh." Is all he says.

  
Keith tries not to look at his clothes, at the thin sliver of dark skin peeking from the front of his shirt.

  
"Sorry." He mutters, taking his hands from the wheel.

  
"If it were anyone else waking me up this early they'd already be taking a dive from the rails." Lance says, and Keith can't tell if he's joking or not.

  
He reminds himself that the man is dangerous regardless of his humor.

  
"How did you know I was here?" Keith asks, pulling the collar of his own shirt higher on his shoulder from where it had fallen.

  
Lance's eyes follow the movement and he steps closer, letting his hands rest on one of the protruding pegs.

  
One side of Lance's mouth rises for a moment, like a smirk come too early. Keith assumes he must watch the helm with some sort of magic, holding a territorial claim as captain-

  
"I heard your footsteps." Lance says, "I usually don't let anyone up here."

  
"Why?"

  
"I set the course of my wheel and if someone changes it, my plans will be ruined."

  
Keith risks reaching forward, letting the wheel move beneath his fingertips, "What plans?"

  
Lance slides his hand closer but refrains from touching Keith's own, "What kind of captain would I be if I spoiled all the fun?" He asks, finally beginning to back away toward the stairs, "One thing you'll have to learn while in my company is that I tend to enjoy surprises, Keith."

  
Keith tilts his head, "What-"

  
But Lance is already heading down the steps, a wink thrown back like a promise.

 

 

☼

 

By midday the ship is fully awake, the engines put to full use, the crew buzzing with high energy. Keith walks with a bucket to the deck. It's full of sudsy water, the smell of lemons tickling his nose as he tries not to spill any on himself. He knew being part of a crew would come with actual work but he never imagined himself wiping away salt and grime from the boards for hours. He thinks he may have liked to work in the kitchen after all. At least then he could constantly listen to Hunk ramble about his inventions, about the strange magic that seems to vibrate around them no matter the hour.

 

  
Instead, he simply sloshes some of the soapy water onto the deck and pulls the stringy mop into his hands with a small grimace. Allura flutters around the crew like a bird of prey, her sharp eyes keeping track of the changing sails and ropes, her long legs striding to and fro. She looks toward Keith and he pulls his attention away quickly, letting them scan the helm instead, watching Lance while he steers and talks to Hunk. In his hands, mostly hidden, Keith has managed to catch glimpses of a strange cubicle device. Lance glances up as if he'd felt the imploring stare and Keith flushes with heat.

 

  
"Where are you from?" Allura asks, suddenly appearing before Keith, effectively cutting Lance from his view.

 

  
He stops himself from jumping, instead trying to finally get a better look at her tattoos. They rest on either temple. One is a crescent, like a moon in shadow, the lines thin and dark. The other is a figure Keith can only closely relate to the sun, its spikes vicious and strong. Allura raises a light eyebrow, mouth turning up in a small smile.

 

  
"My family studied the stars." She says, answering the question Keith didn't have time to ask.

 

  
But she doesn't go into further detail and Keith doesn't like to pry.

 

 

"Branlin." He answers, moving the mop in lazy circles, "It's a city further south. In the Red Wastes."

 

  
She nods and leans against the railing beside him. Her hands are covered in rings, light in the stones swirling like tendrils of smoke. Keith has never seen anything like it.

 

  
"I've heard that the sandstorms are quite atrocious." She says, "I've heard they can kill people."

 

  
Keith nods, dipping the mop back into the water before pushing stray hair out of his eyes, "They're no different than hurricanes, I'm sure. Well, other than the water being replaced by sand."

 

  
"How peculiar." She hums, seeming genuinely intrigued.

 

  
It's quiet for a time between them, the only sounds being the sloshing of water and the call of the crew.

 

  
"You know," Allura eventually says, using a foot to push from the railing, "Lance won't tell me why you're now aboard our ship." She glances at the helm and bites her lip, thinking.

 

  
"What do you mean?" Keith asks, letting the mop rest for a moment while he watches her, "It's not like I asked to come aboard."

 

  
"I know." She says,"That's precisely why I'm curious."

 

  
Keith simply shrugs and refocuses on his mop, "Usually I'd have considered the invitation a trick, I'd have just left and never looked back. I'm not sure why I even showed up that night, you know."

 

  
She nods, "And only time will tell."

 

 

☼

 

 

The days pass the same with Keith cleaning and helping pull the sails inward or loosening them to catch the wind. The sky is almost always clear save for the few clouds that roam above them every once in a while. Lance constantly seems busy, his efforts focused on staying true to some course unknown to the rest of them. Occasionally their eyes will meet between the bustle of the crew, a word or two will be spoken in quick passing, but they haven't had another full conversation since the night on the helm.

 

  
Keith shouldn't be bothered by it. And he isn't, really.

 

He just has too many questions.

 

  
Hunk has shown him some his inventions, like the compartments that shoot out pleasant scents as they sleep; rose and sea-dew and musk from the port cities of Imolis.

 

  
_"Meant to keep us relaxed."_ He'd explained.

 

  
Hunk won't talk much about the captain other than the confirmation that they are indeed headed North, much to Keith's relief. He's also talked about past adventures, relaying the details like facts of science instead of the daring and exciting stories they are. Keith isn't complaining but he wonders if he'll experience any of it soon. Part of him hopes not. 

 

  
Two months later, however, Keith finally gets a taste of the adventure Hunk likes to occasionally bring up.

 

  
It arrives with a boom.

 

  
He shoots up from his bed with a gasp, feeling the ship shake and groan. People jump out of bed and shove on boots and jackets, swords and guns. Keith looks around for a weapon but is met only with chaos. He jumps from his bed and slides on his own boots as another boom makes his ears ring, the ship swaying as if it were teetering on a thin line.

 

  
Hunk grips his shoulder as he comes into view and shoves a sword into his hands, the blade covered by an aged sheath.

 

 

Hunk yells over the commotion, "If you can't fight, hide away from the cannon fire!" And without another word of advice, he pushes past the remaining crew to climb to the deck.

 

  
But Keith can fight.

 

  
He's had to fight his entire life; against other kids, desert beasts, adults with no moral compass. He's fought just as his brother trained him, just as the cruel desert has expected of him. By the time he was eleven he'd already killed two men.

 

  
The sword his bigger and heavier than his usual knives but he doesn't mind. In fact, when he slides it out of the sheath and sees the hilt glimmer with red stones, he feels a new sense of balance.

 

Running up the stairs, he has to keep a hand on the wall in fear of falling backwards with each harsh sway of the ship. The night is as cool as ever but there is a new feverish feel to the air, an electrical charge taking over them all. Adrenaline pours into his bones as he sees the huge pirate ship flying beside them, the enemy crew waiting for the perfect chance to swing upon their deck.

 

  
"Get below!" Lance shouts, showing up like a phantom in his dark clothing, eyes beginning to grow with celestial light.

 

  
He grabs at Keith's jacket, pushing him back toward the stairs.

 

  
"I can fight!" Keith yells back, feeling the ship jolt with its own blasting cannons, the sounds a collection of deafening cracks in his ears. They hit the enemy ship, sending wood flying in all directions, "I know how to fight!"

 

  
Lance stares at him for a moment, his face contorting in an emotion Keith doesn't quite understand before he lets his hand rise momentarily to rest on the side of Keith's neck. His hand is freezing against Keith's skin and he nods before letting go, his cloak billowing behind him as he walks out among his crew. Keith doesn't have time to watch for long before the first enemy lands on their deck, slashing away with his rusted sword.

 

  
He rounds on Keith, a wicked grin pulling at his mouth to show his missing, blackened teeth. He brings his sword around but it clashes with Keith's own, the sound louder than Keith expected. More and more enemies pour onto the deck and guns begin to fire, smoke rising from each pulled trigger. People fall with heavy thuds and Keith wishes he could see who's crew they belong to.

 

 

"Die now, boy!" The pirate in front of him shouts as he raises his sword, but Keith is exceptionally quicker.

 

  
He lets his blade slide into the man's chest, pushing hard enough to feel it breach bone and muscle, a grunt rising on his lips when he slides it back out. The man falls but another takes his place, his beard thick and long. He's faster than the last, his blade thinner.

 

  
Keith ducks as the sword flies just above his head, close enough for him to feel the wind ruffle his hair. All of a sudden, another sword protrudes from the man's chest, blade already slick with blood.

 

  
Allura is grinning after the man falls, a wild emotion showing on her face. She laughs and winks at Keith before diving back in, hacking away with impressive skill. The wind is picking up as if a storm is rising but Keith sees no clouds in the night sky. The cannon's continue to blast away at the enemy, much faster now, no doubt energized by whatever magic flows through the ship. Three large holes have been blown into its side, dire enough to impact its ability to fly. The enemy begins to pull back just as Keith makes it to the bow, as far from the heat of battle as he can get for the time being.

 

  
In the middle of the chaos Lance stands tall at the helm. His eyes are alight with the same bright blue Keith has only seen once before. He turns the wheel with all of his might, sending it reeling straight toward the retreating enemy ship. He lifts a lever after the helm straightens its course so they can stay focused on the path ahead.

 

  
Suddenly, he's climbing onto the net that leads to the crow's nest. Keith knows he isn't going up just to get a better view because the moment his boots find stable landing, there is a strong pulse of blue. It begins in his eyes and travels to his hands, the veins beneath his skin coming alight like star-fire. Keith feels his own body shiver at the sheer power that so evidently rests inside of the captain, held back by the fragility of the human body.

 

  
The growing wind lifts Lance's cloak, making it billow around him as he raises his arms, his hair lifting as though he were beneath feet of ocean water. He doesn't speak, he doesn't even move save for the spreading of his fingers.

 

Sprinkles of water, strange considering they're so far from the surface, pelt the deck like the beginnings of a storm.

 

  
Keith turns quickly, hands gripping the railing as a wave rises in front of them. He can just catch the enemy crew backing away on their own ship, eyes wide in shock and disbelief at the sight of slow-moving swell. The crest of water rises feet into the air, blocking Keith's view of the other ship completely, the rushing sound seeming to encompass everything; the size of it making even him swallow in fear. The wave suddenly lurches forward as if pushed from behind and it breaks over the enemy ship, sending it plummeting to the ocean under the full weight.

 

  
Keith doesn't even hear them scream.

 

  
"It ain't over yet!" Someone from his crew shouts behind him, "We don't stop 'till they're _all_ beneath us!"

 

  
Keith turns and spots the woman holding up a gun, waiting for Keith to ready himself before he's able to catch it. He raises it, sword gripped tight in his other hand. He aims it at a man running toward him with his own gun, his finger moving to curl on the trigger.

 

  
Keith pulls first, the force of it pushing him back, making his wrist sting from the kick. When he can finally look toward Lance again, through the smoke and lingering fight, the captain is back at the helm- steering forward with fierce determination.


	4. Chapter 4

 

☼

 

Hours after the final sword has fallen and the bodies have been thrown overboard Keith decides to try to wash the blood from his face. He scrubs but doesn’t have time to get all of it off before a woman is pushing him out of the way. She dips her head beneath the water of the washroom  and Keith watches as it turns pink before disappearing into a small drain.

  
_Does it lead into the ocean, falling beneath the ship?_ He wonders.

 

  
He doesn’t bother drying his own hair before making his way back up, limbs aching. There is a fire lit in a large pit that levitates in the air. He doesn’t see any suspension of rope keeping it floating and it spins slowly but he can’t find the energy to wonder how it works. The light creates shadows as people gather around, recognizing that one of their crewmates has died.

 

  
“We celebrate.” Lance says, appearing beside Keith.

 

His own skin is cleaned, no sheen of blood or grime present. His eyes don’t glow and his hands are cleared. Keith notices that they’re close enough for their arms to touch if either one of them chose to shift even an inch closer.

 

  
“Someone died.” Keith states, confused.

 

  
Lance nods, “And so we celebrate.” He grins at Keith, the playful boyish smirk returning as if it had never been replaced by a face of cruel power only hours earlier, “Pirates don’t mourn their dead, Keith. You live by the sword, you die by the sword, you return to the sea forever.”

 

  
Drums are dragged out, large bulky things that make the floor vibrate beneath Keith as they are hit, “I didn’t know pirates were musicians too.”

 

  
The laugh that escapes Lance is loud. Keith crosses his arms but lets a tiny smirk play on his mouth at the sound, wondering how the man can change his emotions as easily as the tide. He leans down, just barely, to whisper against Keith’s ear. He tries not to shiver.

 

  
“Pirates are capable of many things.” His breath makes the hair on Keith’s neck shift and he tries desperately not to shiver.

 

He turns his head but Lance doesn’t look away, instead letting the dare in his eyes shine almost as brightly as the strange magic they hold.

 

  
Drinks are thrust into their space, making Keith put distance between the two as Hunk begins to talk about the fight and the repairs being done to the ship. Keith takes a drink, almost immediately spitting it out. It’s harsh and strong but he tries again, not going to let whatever rum this is make him scrunch his nose. He looks to Lance, watching as he tastes his own drink, his eyes meeting Keith’s above the rim of the glass. The drums are growing louder and faster as more people join the celebration, shoes kept below deck, their bare feet hitting the floor as they dance and move and relax.

 

  
Keith feels himself loosen up as he takes more sips and finds himself smiling at Allura when she grasps his hands to pull him into a dance. He tries to stop her, knowing he’s never been one to have rhythm.

 

  
“It’s easy!” She says, trying to get him to move his shoulders.

 

At his attempt she lets out a loud laugh and bends to hold her stomach. Keith blushes furiously even as he feels his own laughter bubbling inside of him. Her dance lessons go on for a long time, which allows the drink to move out of his body until his vision is clearer and his mind is calmer. Not one who tends to enjoy being drunk, he is happy to have all of his senses slowly returned.

 

  
Allura tries to get a man beside her to dance with him, eyes sly in the light of the flames, “Maybe you need another man to get your hips moving!” She laughs.

 

  
The boy grins and wiggles his eyebrows but Keith blushes all the same, declining the offer as quickly as he can. He opts to move to the outskirts of the party, feeling a strange wildness threading along his veins. The music feels old, like a beat beyond the years. As he leans over the railing, letting his fingers move in the air to the drums, he notices the sky is no longer beneath them. Instead, the open ocean sprays water onto the side of the boat, the moon once again creating glittering diamond lights upon the waves. He stands straight, knowing he has to find Hunk to ask why they’ve begun to sail on the water.

 

  
But when he turns around he doesn’t see the raging party or Hunk’s large form swaying to the music.

 

Instead, he sees only Lance.

 

  
The captain has taken off his cloak, letting his white shirt lay loose. Keith sees the dark skin of his chest as he walks forward, steps sure and strong. He’s smiling and Keith supposes he should just get used to it. However, he makes a note to ask Lance what kind of image he’s trying to pass as a deadly pirate all the while smiling like a child.

 

  
“Why are we on the ocean?” Keith asks instead, leaning back against the rail, hands on either side of him to keep his balance.

 

The metal is cool beneath his sweaty palms.

 

  
Lance stops in front of him, “We aren’t confined to the sky.” He says, "It's simply faster. The air currents are stronger the higher we are.”

 

  
Keith pushes off of the rail and walks away from the firelight and past Lance toward the stairs leading to the helm. Lance follows immediately, watching the drying hair on the nape of Keith's neck lift in a soft breeze. Keith leans against the wheel, back facing the party.

 

It’s slightly quieter here, somehow a bit more private. 

 

  
Lance stands in front of him again, his smirk playing on his lips.

 

  
“I like the sky.” Keith says, continuing the conversation, “I’ve been on the ground too long.”

 

  
“In the desert?”

 

  
“Yeah.” He glances up toward the sky. “I thought I’d never leave.”

 

  
“Why?” Lance asks, stepping closer.

 

  
Keith shrugs, “I just thought that’s all there was. Me, my brother and the sand.” He shakes his head.

 

  
“And where is your brother?”

 

  
He swallows, “I’m not sure.” His voice is tighter than he intends; guarded.

 

 

Lance doesn’t push.

 

  
“One day we’ll be above the air.” He says instead, clearing his throat.

 

He’s even closer now, though Keith tries to look anywhere but his face.

 

  
“That’s impossible.” He says, eyes roaming up and up, until he can take in the blanket of twinkling stars. 

 

  
Lance lets out a chuckle, his hand reaching to touch a strand of Keith’s dark hair. “It’ll happen.” He says, “And then those stars will be closer than ever.”

 

Keith shivers as a brisk wind hits his heated face, as Lance presses closer, his body barely touching Keith’s. The tightening of Keith’s stomach returns, a burning sensation rising in him like heat lightening.

 

It's strange, the way something as simple as a gentle touch could have Keith unraveling. He wants to lean in, to let the captain's arms wrap around his tired shoulders and hold him up- to take part of something that had never truly crossed his mind until now. Intimacy has left him frozen, no matter his wishes to leap forward. 

 

  
But then Lance is moving away, letting Keith's hair drift and fall from between his fingers.

 

  
“Try to sleep after the sun has risen. I’m tired of waking up so damn early.” He says, shifting his eyes away from Keith's.

 

Keith furrows his brows, confused but not dumb enough to stick around. He leaves the helm with brisk steps, the heat lingering inside of him long after he has splashed cold water onto his face and his head has hit his feathered pillow.

 

 

  
☼

 

 

  
“Three days to port!” Hunk calls out one afternoon, his voice excited.

 

  
“Port?” Keith asks from his spot on the kitchen counter, legs swinging with the sound of sizzling meat.

 

It’s rare that Hunk gets to use open flame but Keith has come to appreciate it when he can.

 

  
“Port, my friend!” Hunk says, stirring a huge pot full of something or another.

 

Keith doesn’t bother asking, knowing it’ll taste good either way. He fiddles with a telescope, put to the task by Lance to make it shine light from the tip. He isn’t quite sure why Lance would require such a thing, but once again, he doesn’t ask.

 

“Are we going to plunder?”

 

  
Hunk places the large spoon down and lets out a choked laugh, “Plunder?” He asks, spinning to face Keith. “That isn’t really the word we use and  _no_ , we aren’t going to plunder.” 

 

  
“Where did you all get the riches from then? In the room below us?”

 

  
Hunk raises an eyebrow for a moment, making Keith glance up at the silence.

 

“We only take what we want from other pirates or the occasional Empire ship.” He turns back to his food, muttering. 

 

  
“So you’re telling me you can sink entire ships and kill their crew without a second thought, but you don't invade ports and cities?” Keith asks, not entirely believing it.

 

  
“We take what we want here and there, sure. But we don’t care to terrorize the people on the land." He grins, "Not usually, anyway.”

 

  
Keith rolls his eyes and jumps down from the counter, placing the telescope gently onto it. He tries to sneak by Hunk to the sizzling meat.

 

  
“Oh no you don’t!” Hunk shouts, taking the soup spoon to swipe at Keith’s greedy hands. With a laugh, Keith manages to steal a piece anyway before he gathers up the telescope and runs out of the room.

 

  
Hunk’s annoyed shouts follow him all the way to the open deck.

 

 

☼

 

 

  
They reach the city in two days, at dawn. The lights inside of buildings on the shore already light up the horizon, shimmering like stars that haven fallen on the land. Lance and Allura bark orders to ease the sails, to ready the anchor. He helps pull in ropes, his arms taut as the ship slows its descent.

 

  
As the bow reaches the dock, Lance shrugs on his leather jacket and strides to Keith, surprising him by taking his hand.

 

  
“I have things to show you.” He says, pulling him toward the ramp being slowly extended outward.

 

  
Keith doesn’t try to pull away as Lance grips his hand tighter, the coolness of his skin quickly settling with ease. Keith follows without question, watching the skull and bones on his jacket shift as they walk onto the dock and toward the bustling city.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

☼

 

Keith has traveled trough two major cities while on the road and none have been as large or as busy as this one. Though the sun has only been up for a short while, already people are making their way through the streets. Breads are beginning to bake, the shop windows are opening, stands are being set up as far as Keith can see along the rising cobble streets. He still holds Lance’s hand as he leads him deeper. People eye them and keep a distance, no doubt recognizing a pirate when they see one. However, Lance either doesn’t seem to notice or he just doesn't care. They cut through alleyways and around houses, take walkways bordered by swaying green palms covered in coconuts. All of the buildings are different than what Keith is used to, most of them being made of wood instead of stone. His eyes rake the land curiously, catching each flutter of movement, smelling each scent whether good or bad.

 

Occasionally, when they walk along a particularly high street, Keith can see a large estate in the distance, its walls gleaming bright in the sun.

 

  
He’s just about to ask Lance where he’s leading him when they come to a stop outside of a smaller building, its door heavy and seemingly bolted.

 

  
Lance lets go of Keith’s hand to reach above the door as if searching for something.

 

  
He lets out a huff, “They knew I would be showing up eventually.” He mutters, as if to himself.

 

  
He glances back at Keith before pounding on the door, the sound out of place on the quiet street. They wait in silence and Keith hears shuffling on the other side, like someone was already there and had simply been woken up.

 

  
“C’mon!” Lance calls, kicking the door with his foot, “Wake up and let me in!”

 

 

They hear the deadbolts unlock one by one and Keith tenses, wondering just what kind of person finds the need to guard themselves so fully. The door swings open, creaking on it’s hinges and Keith has to lower his gaze to see the homeowner.

 

  
“You know i’m always awake.” The person says, short brown hair wild atop their head, glasses crooked on their nose. She has swirling vine-like markings running along her arms, some peaking out of the collar of her thin shirt. They seem to change in the sunlight, the once dark hue become a lighter green. “Who’s this?” She asks, looking Keith up and down.

 

  
“If you let us in, Pidge, you’ll find out.” Lance says, pushing past and striding into the dark house as if he owns the place.

 

Pidge moves aside for Keith to enter, mouth pursed like she isn't sure if she wants to say something to him.

 

  
“Uh, excuse me.” Keith says, brushing by.

 

  
Lance is already seated in a large chair when Keith enters the foyer, the brown leather dipping under his weight. Keith looks around, noting the mountains of papers and gadgets, the dim green hue of some unseen light making the room appear as if it were deep within a forest. The house is cool and smells like rich soil and chemicals, a variety of strange plants littering the floor; some running along the walls and hanging from the ceiling. He goes to stand by Lance, unsure.

 

  
Pidge shuts the door and locks it again, though only one. “What did you want again? You were here not that long ago.”

 

  
“First, I’d like some water.” Lance says, sighing.

 

  
Pidge scoffs and throws a book at him and it would have hit true if Lance wouldn’t have moved his head at the last moment. He laughs and stands, disappearing around a corner. Pidge looks at Keith again, studying. Keith returns the gaze, noticing light freckles on  her cheeks. It’s awkwardly quiet, the only sound being Lance banging around somewhere no doubt in search of a drink.

 

  
Pidge suddenly walks forward and holds out her hand, waiting for Keith to shake it.

 

  
“I’m Pidge.” She says, letting a smile grace her lips. “Sorry if i’m freaking you out. I was trying to remember if I knew you or not.”

 

  
Keith shakes her hand, noting her strong grip. “No, we haven’t met.”

 

  
“Yeah, I know that now.” She says, blunt and sure.

 

  
Lance suddenly returns and they drop hands, ignoring his raised eyebrow. He notices Keith eyeing his cup and instantly hands it to him. Keith tries not to grab it too quickly but he can’t deny how thirsty he is, not havinghad anything to drink since hours earlier.

 

  
“So,” Pidge says, “why are you here and not destroying some poor bastards ship?”

 

  
Lance glances at Keith, who’s still drinking his water, before leading Pidge out of the room. Keith waits, resisting the urge to follow close behind or peek around the corner. He places the cup on a nearby table and decides to wander around the room, knowing Lance had planned to be here long before he let Keith board his ship. He circles a huge contraption on the floor, eyeing the strange cords coming out like snakes. It hums like it’s on, but Keith can’t find a power source. He squats, letting his elbows rest on his knees so he can get a closer look.

 

  
He narrows his eyes as he sees something move within the cube, like the flow of grass in the wind.

 

  
“Keith!” Lance suddenly calls, making him jump.

 

He stands quickly and hurries toward his voice, walking down a winding hallway and up some stairs, letting his eyes take in just how many rooms are in the house. He arrives at the top of the stairs and sees only one door open. Pidge walks out and smiles at him, making him pause.

 

  
“What?” He asks, but she says nothing, instead heading back down the stairs. He shakes his head and walks into the room.

 

  
The walls are covered in black cloth, the floor in dark wood. There isn’t a single light source; no windows, no flames and no bulbs. The room is bare save for Lance who stands in the middle, holding an object in his hand. Keith recognizes it as the same cube from all those weeks ago, when Lance had been his busiest at the helm.

 

  
“What is that?” Keith asks, eyeing it.

 

  
“It’s one of the reasons I come to this city.” He says, motioning for Keith to shut the door. The moment he does, the room is thrust into darkness. “Come closer.” Lance says, voice hushed.

 

  
Keith gets as close as he can without running into him, his outstretched hands brushing on the sleeve of his jacket so that he doesn't wander into a damn wall.

 

  
He waits, feeling Lance fiddle with the object in his hands. Suddenly, lights arise in the air and hover, moving slow like the wading of an object on water. Keith sucks in a breath, eyes growing wide at the thousands of new lights and spinning orbs, at the vibrant blues and greens.

 

  
“What is this?” He asks, breathless.

 

  
He lets go of Lance and reaches out a hand, letting the strange lights brush past his fingers. He doesn’t feel them, but as he touches one it zooms in to display a slow spinning motion; a star in formation.

 

  
Lance watches the lights too, voice calmer than Keith has ever heard it. “It’s the air above the sky.”

 

  
Keith shakes his head and spins slowly, remembering their conversation from nights ago but still not quite believing it. “Impossible. How did you even get this?”

 

  
“It was created in a land far away, in the place Allura is from.” Lance says, “Pidge has been trying to figure it out for years even if the basic function aids me well. When I come here I always have her check it to make sure it’s still up to par.”

 

  
“Does Allura know how to use it?”

 

  
“Yes. Better than any of us, honestly, but even she doesn’t fully _understand_ it.”

 

  
Keith turns to Lance, “Then how do you know it’s true?” He asks, “How do you know this is actually what’s up there?”

 

  
Lance shrugs, “The constellations match.” He points, “The Northern Star always shines. I’ve been following it for years and it never leads me astray.” He sets the object on the ground so that he can shrug off his jacket before letting it rest by his feet.

 

  
The lights spin and zoom, as if traveling across the expanse of the universe. Keith wants to believe it. He wants to imagine all of these places are simply points on some celestial map, just waiting for men and women in ships to land upon their shores. 

 

  
He watches Lance and the way the lights shine upon his dark skin, how they reflect in his eyes.

 

  
And suddenly he’s moving.

 

  
He recalls his brother again, his lectures against rash behavior, but as always it doesn’t slow him down. He stands in front of Lance and reaches out to touch one of the lights reflected on his arm. Lance freezes when he feels the touch, eyes shooting down to watch. Keith notices the temperature difference between them, the way his hands seem to cool when they meet Lance’s own skin.

 

  
“I’ve been in your crew for months now,” He says, quiet as the stars spin around them. “and I’m not sure why.”

 

  
Lance turns his arm, letting his palm face the ceiling as Keith continues to trace the random patterns. “Because you wanted out of that city.”

 

  
Keith shakes his head and lets his hand fall back to his side.

 

  
He looks at Lance, “That’s not what I mean.” He lets out a small laugh, feeling the damn blush rising along his neck and cheeks. He sees Lance’s veins begin to glow a dull blue, a shade darker than the points floating around them.

 

  
He shifts closer, a small part of himself reveling in the fact that he’s even here at all. He’s seen Lance slaughter an entire ship full of people with his strange magic, with no thought to those on board. Yet the hands that shine with that magic now aren’t raised in fury and he hasn’t left Keith standing alone as he’s done so many times before. Instead, Keith feels his warm breath brush against his own lips, making his stomach flip and clench. Their bodies are close, shirts brushing together as Keith brings his hand to travel against Lance’s upper arm. Lance snakes an arm around his waist, gentle as he brings their hips together.

 

  
But then Keith is pulling away, seeing a flash of memory play in his mind’s eye like a zap of lightening. He curses at the momentary scene of his brother turning to walk away, the crest of the Empire resting on his new dark armor.

 

  
_What am I doing?_  He thinks.

 

  
Lance doesn’t move for a moment and Keith can’t bring himself to look for his expression.

 

  
“I’m sorry. I'm sorry but I have to get North.” He says, finally giving a hint to the captain about his true destination, “ I won’t be distracted. I can't.”

 

He turns and walks toward the door, watching from his peripheral as the thousands of lights vanish as light filters into the room.

 

  
He doesn’t wait for Lance to follow, instead choosing to find Pidge downstairs as she works on the large cube he studied earlier. They don’t speak until Lance decides to finally join them, a large smile on his face as if nothing had even happened.

 

  
Keith pretends the sight doesn’t sting.

 

  
☼

 

 

  
Pidge doesn’t accompany them as they leave.

 

  
“We’ll see each other again soon, i’m sure.” She says, smiling at Keith. “And if i’m done by then i’ll let you be the first one to test it out.”

 

  
She nods at the large strange cube still sitting in the corner, the movement inside of it wilder than we he first arrived. He wasn’t able to get any details about it’s function out of her for the last two hours and she seemed to enjoy his pleading.

 

  
Lance ruffles her hair, earning himself a swipe at the shoulder before he’s striding away, a whistling tune leaving his mouth. Keith waves at Pidge in goodbye, not staying to watch as she shuts the door.

 

  
“Are you hungry?” Lance calls back, barely turning his head to regard Keith.

 

  
“Sure.” He says, quickening his pace to keep up with him.

 

  
When they arrive at a tavern, Keith can’t that say he’s surprised.

 

  
The sun is higher in the sky and the air has warmed enough for the tavern’s fans to be spinning on the tall wooden ceilings. Sailors line the bar, gulping down their fill of rum and beer, their clothes smelling of salt and sea and fish. Everyone regards Lance like one would a rabid dog; guarded and suspicious, ready to act in defense at a moment’s notice.

 

  
Keith knows they wouldn’t get very far.

 

  
“Does anyone in this city actually like you?” Keith asks as they take a seat, trying to take on a rather playful tone.

 

 

“Sure they do!” He says, sounding offended. “They’re just pouting about something or another, probably remembering their losses at the expense of my sharp eye in a game of poker.”

 

  
Keith tries not to roll his eyes but believes him nonetheless. The bartender slides them drinks and food and Keith takes no time tasting it, too hungry to wonder about what it’s made of.

 

  
Any awkwardness from earlier has vanished, if only for the time being. Other pirates are scattered throughout the room, easy to tell apart from the normal sailor. Most wear big hats with chains or coins hanging from the rim, their skin weathered by the sea and sky, tattoos sitting in bulk on their faces. He recalls the metallic arms and legs of some of the pirates on Lance’s crew and decides to ask him about it.

 

  
“They all needed a spare.” Lance says, leaning his head on his hand as he watches Keith. “Hunk and Pidge can put them together like it's the easiest thing in the world.”

 

  
Keith avoids his gaze, noticing how close he is yet again. “Are they strong? The metallic limbs?”

 

  
“Of course.”

 

  
For the rest of the day they jump from tavern to tavern, running into people Lance seems to be on slightly decent terms with, while avoiding others like the plague. Keith decides to go back to the ship a few hours into the night, his chest heavy.

 

  
When he lays in his bed he welcomes sleep to him like an old friend.

 

  
☼

 

  
They’ve been in the city for three days and Keith admits he’s had some fun. Allura has shown him around the shops, her smile dangerous as she plucks up breads and sweets, only bothering to pay if the seller looks her in the eye as she takes it.

 

  
“It’s a little game.” She says with a shrug, tossing Keith a chocolate.

 

  
When they’re finally back in the sky, the cool air brushing against Keith’s heated skin once more, Lance finds him again. He leads him to the helm as most of the crew rests or talks in hushed tones, some sharpening their swords.

 

  
“I understand.” Lance says, walking Keith backward until his back rests against the large wall behind the wheel.

 

  
“Understand what?” He asks, placing a hand on Lance’s chest, feeling the cool skin beneath his thin shirt.

 

  
Lance looks almost feverish, his own skin flushed, eyes hooded.

 

  
“You’re going to make it North and you’re going to leave my ship.” He says, leaning closer. “But that doesn’t mean you have to start distancing yourself now. I didn’t invite you to my crew out of a simple kindness, Keith. At first I admit I was curious, eager to see if the fire in your eye could hold out with my crew. I’m a criminal, an enemy of the Empire, a _pirate._ You've killed with us, taken riches beneath your palm. I'd say you are too-

 

  
Keith narrows his eyes, trying to keep up with the rushed ramble spilling from Lance.

 

 

“I’m not an enemy of the Empire.”

 

  
Lance laughs, a sound as wild as the toiling ocean below.

 

  
Keith's gaze drops to watch his lips.

 

“You are.” Lance continues, “At least for now.”

 

  
Keith lets him move closer, once again feeling his warm breath on his lips, his cool fingers running along his neck to tangle in his hair.  As if he couldn't hold back anymore, Keith is the first to put his hands on Lance’s belt to pull his hips forward. He closes his eyes as he hears Lance gasp, a quiet sound; a dangerous sound.

 

  
Thunder rumbles far away, the electricity of a thunderstorm building slowly against them. Keith moves the last bit of distance forward to meet Lance’s lips. The air is sucked out of Keith’s lungs as his arms wrap around Lance’s neck, pulling him even closer. They move in a dance only growing in its tempo until Lance finally breaks away to trail his lips along Keith’s neck, his tongue darting out to taste at his skin.

 

  
Keith tilts his head to look at the night sky, breath coming in pants, body alight from a fire building in his core.

 

  
_Finally,_ he thinks.

 

  
☼

 

 

The storm gathers quickly, as if the god of the sea were livid.

 

  
“Can’t you stop it?” Keith asks above the howling wind, wondering if they should be in the air or on the water.

 

  
Lance has awoken the crew, his heavy steps leading him to one of the bundles of rope tied to the rail. He begins to unwind it himself, his eyes on the sky.

 

“I can persuade the ocean,” He says, “But never a storm.” He motions for Keith to grab a rope, to help pull the sails to favor the wind.

 

  
The crew is alive with the new danger and Keith picks up on the energy, pulling with all of his might to angle the sails. He glances at Lance, noticing his concentration and the way his own muscles shift with strength.

 

  
_Focus,_  he thinks.

 

  
Hunk is pushing barrels into the lower levels as lightening begins to shoot past their ship, thunder booming around them like ghostly cannons. Keith times his tugs on the rope with those in front of and beside him, watching to make sure his doesn’t tangle. His hands are rougher than they’ve ever been from the past weeks and though he’s gotten used to acting quickly to help maneuver the sails, it’s different when the wind seems to fight back. Lightening flashes in quick succession as rain begins to fall, hitting him with a sting like sand.

 

  
“ _Hold!_ ” Lance yells above the thunder and Keith leans back as much as he can, pulling the rope taut.

 

  
The wind rushing against the sails makes Keith's boots slide and he curses, wishing they could move faster. Allura runs to Lance and speaks quickly, pointing toward the helm. Keith looks and feels his body freeze as he sees it turning widely, making the ship suddenly tilt. His body hits the rail closest to him and he shouts, seeing a glimpse of the toiling ocean below.

 

  
“Keith!” Allura calls, appearing beside him, already pulling him by his jacket to hear her over the crashing waves, “Get to the helm!” She grabs the rope from his hands and yanks, doing a much better job at it than he was.

 

  
“What?!” He shouts, looking toward Lance.

 

  
His own concentration is on the crew around him as he barks orders to hold and release, to pull quickly one way or another. If he were to let go for even a second, the main cast would snap; they'd be helpless against the storm.

 

  
“Get to the helm and get control of that wheel!” She yells, using her foot to push him away.

 

He doesn’t have time to argue as the ship tilts again, this time to the left.

 

  
People scream as they slide and Keith looses his footing for a moment, true fear bursting through him before he can get back to his feet. He runs for the stairs and tries to take them two at a time, holding onto the rails with all of his might as the ship groans like a great beast. Rain slashes against his face, making it hard to see as he reaches forward, hands slippery when he grips the pegs. He lets out a grunt as he leans all of his weight onto it, pushing as much as he can to straighten it out. His boots slip in small increments, the wheel barely turning.

 

  
“Come on!” He yells, taking a big gulp of air before pushing once more.

 

  
Keith wonders if they’ve entered a hurricane.

 

  
He looks to the lever and toward the bow of the ship, trying to decide what to do. Lance and Allura are still shouting orders, urging the crew to hold on and Keith makes a split second decision, one he hopes won’t cost anyone their lives. He lets go of the wheel and feels the ship tilt again, this time dangerously close to flipping. People scream as he ducks, hands grasping onto the lever, feeling it dig like a knife into his skin. He pulls with all of his might, willing the dammed thing to click back into place. It takes longer than he intends but it finally gives and latches onto the hold, it’s clamp locking and turning with the wheel. Keith quickly rises, not sure if it will work, but he tries nonetheless.

 

  
He pushes the wheel again, ignoring the pain of his hands, the brutal aching of his arms and shoulders. The ship straightens slowly but surely and Keith cries out in relief as the lever locks completely shut. He ducks again to make sure it won’t release any time soon, wanting to cheer as he stands, looking to Lance as they finally get control of the sails. The storm still rages, it’s power frightening as Keith begins to make his way back toward the stairs.

 

  
He doesn’t get far.

 

  
A bolt of lightening, as bright as a newborn sun, runs along the helm and into his body.

 

It knocks him off of his feet, the loud crack seeming to echo around the ship as if it were being ripped apart at the seam.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

☼

 

 

When Keith was five years old, there had been a war. 

 

Or, to be more accurate, a war that was on the brink of ending. A war that had started six years prior and would eventually shape the world and establish a final Empire; a tyrannical reign by a mad king. 

 

Keith was in a forest the day his parents were taken away. A forest much too dense, the likes of which he can now only remember when he dreams. The foliage had overgrown, thick decaying vines making the trek much rougher than it should have been. His brother's hand was his only leverage to stay upright, the voices of his parents lost to him in the fray. They were fleeing like so many people from so many other cities.

 

He remembers the sounds of war in small increments; the screams, the clashing of metal upon metal- upon skin. Sometimes he thinks he can catch a whiff of the smell. The day his parents were stolen from them, he smelled only smoke and the unmistakable stench of death. 

 

And for a long while, after he'd tripped and tried to shield himself from the rush of pounding feet, all had been dark. 

 

The next time he awoke, he was on cot in the desert. 

 

The city he would grow up in was large, the buildings made of beige stone and thick windows. When the wind did blow clear his brother would shove them open to let it flow through their room, makeshift curtains fluttering like solidified mist. Keith supposes the desert is much like the sea; wild and dangerous but inherently beautiful. He has never seen a purer sunrise. 

 

Survival was ingrained into him until every day seemed like a test, until his heart was hardened with it. Guns were never needed in the desert; only knives, curved swords, the ability to take a man down with only your wits and fists. There was never a night where Keith didn't return with knuckles bloody and raw. The city had no ruler, which was common in the southern part of the world. 

 

They say the Empire found no need to keep track of the desert, with it's never ending mounds of sand and forsaken people. 

 

His brother had a habit of reminding him that they were luckier than most. 

 

 _"If the war were to begin again,"_ He would mutter around a nighttime fire, the embers rising like pixies toward a starcast sky,  _"we would be invaded last."_

 

His brother despised the Empire, remembering more of the war than Keith ever could. But he never let Keith speak of it with anyone else.

 

 _"It's still dangerous."_ He would warn,  _"Remember, if you were to be asked, you're an ally to the Empire. Always keep other opinions to yourself. Never leave the desert."_

 

Keith had promised. He'd sworn that he would lay low and keep his life simple; survive and wait. 

 

He'd been good at it up until the day his brother had turned away from him, choosing to follow the convoy of those headed to serve the very people he swore to hate. He left Keith with promises of money and food, of opportunity for them to leave the dangers of the city and find their own land in the dunes. 

 

For months, Keith waited for him to come back. 

 

The day the witch found him, the name of a strange city written on a piece of parchment resting between her slim fingers, Keith broke all promises. She whispered only one name to him; a person with whom he could speak to. She swore the man had promising news. 

 

With a push of the paper into his hand, she'd turned her shadowed face away,  _"Head north and you will find him in the city of Lausanca."_

 

Keith found the man the same night he'd found the medallion glinting dangerously, a flame etched onto the golden surface. He looked at it closely, a sense of strange familiarity making him pause as he glanced back at the beaded doorway behind him. He swiped it from the man's shop as he left, not thinking twice about it as he attached it to a thin chain and placed in within his pocket. 

 

He never should have taken the damned thing.

 

 

☼

 

 _"He's alive!"_ Someone yells. 

 

Keith hears the pounding of boots as someone runs to him, their breath leaving them in shaky huffs. 

 

_Alive._

 

But something is wrong. 

 

"Hot-" He tries to say, voice cracking. 

 

He feels a strong gust of wind and knows that he's still on the deck of the ship, the storm still raging around them. Someone holds him now, their chest pressed against his back. Keith tries to listen, to feel the rain or follow the rise and fall of the person's chest, but he is consumed. 

 

He feels as if his body were placed in flames; his skin has to be peeling away, his bones must be smoldering. With each burst of heat he can feel his body arch, can hear his own screams echoing in his ears. 

 

The only relief he receives is the occasional brush of a hand against his cheek, his arm, his neck. 

 

The rest is fire. 

 

☼

 

"I can't explain it." A gentle voice says in his ear. 

 

Keith sucks in as much air as he can, feeling it run through his nose, imagining it filling up his lungs. He's no longer sprawled on the deck and instead he feels a brand new softness. He smells night air and spice on sheets. 

 

His eyes open slowly, hazily, and he spots Allura standing beside him. Her eyes are running along his body, brows furrowed, tongue poking at the corner of her mouth in concentration. 

 

  
"What-" He tries to ask, wincing at the dry scratch of his throat. 

 

She startles and quickly kneels beside him, face alight with relief. 

 

"Here." She says, bringing a lukewarm mug of water to his lips. 

 

He drinks it eagerly, eyes shutting again at the feel of the cool liquid entering his mouth. She only stays long enough for him to finish before standing, running a soft hand on his hair, nodding as if to say:  _well done._

 

When she's done he looks to the other side of the room and meets Lance's gaze, his blue eyes wide in an emotion Keith can't place. Keith tries to sit up, the sheet sliding from his chest as he feels heat continue to run along his body. 

 

Only this time, it isn't enough to make him contort in pain. It simply reminds him of the desert at dusk, the warm rays resting upon his skin like a blanket. 

 

"You should be burnt to a crisp." Lance says, "You should be dead."

 

Keith tilts his head in question, hands gripping tightly to the sheets, "You say that like you'd _rather_ I be." He says, grimacing. 

 

Lance shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh before making his way toward the bed. He sits and rests his elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands. 

 

"It's been a long while since I've been that frightened." He says, voice muffled and quiet. Keith shifts closer, unsure of where to place his hands, how he should angle his body, "One second you were grinning and walking to me and the next you were simply  _gone._ In a flash, with no warning-"

 

He cuts off and takes a large, shaky breath. 

 

Keith hesitates, mouth parting but no words can seem to find their way out. Lance shifts his head and turns toward Keith, bringing a cold hand to rest on the back of his neck. Keith gasps, a ghost of pain striking in his chest, before his eyes inevitably close. 

 

The kiss that follows is gentle, light, almost cautious. He feels it like the flutter of moth wings, soft as satin. He brings his fingers to run along Lance's jaw, trailing to tug at the silk of his shirt. 

 

It's over too soon.

 

"You need rest." Lance says, pulling back, "Once the storm eases I'm expecting an attack in a matter of days."

 

"What?" Keith asks, blinking away the calm he'd just felt; the absolute peace. 

 

"After huge storms there's always someone looking for a battered ship to invade." Lance explains, brushing his fingertips against Keith's cheek before standing. He picks up his coat from where it lays on a chair and slides it on, ready to face the final stretch of the storm. 

 

Keith catches something feral flash in Lance's eyes before he opens the door, wind howling outside. Once he's gone, Keith lays back on the bed with a huff, trying to take everything in at once. 

 

 _I really should be dead._ He thinks, _The strike should have stopped my heart, I_ _should be dead and cast into the sea._

 

Instead, he feels a burst of heat run against his arm, strong enough to make him tense and hiss in pain. 

 

The sight that greets him when he looks down makes his blood run cold. 

 

Red light pulses along his veins, the movement slow like molten rock. 

 

 

☼

 

Later, Keith isn't sure whether it's now day or the following night, Lance returns. The red light that had shined inside of Keith faded slowly, until nothing remained, making him wonder if he'd imagined the entire thing. 

 

He pretends to be asleep when Lance opens the door, the rain having turned into a soft patter, the wind surprisingly chilled as it hits Keith's legs. He faces away from the door, his arms pulled close. 

 

Lance moves around the room and Keith can hear the slide of cloth against skin, the thud of shoes being taken off and the smell of some strange sweet spice fill the air. The new scent makes him sneeze and he freezes, instantly wondering if Lance intends to make him leave. 

 

The bed dips under Lance's weight but he doesn't touch Keith, choosing instead to lay with his arms resting above, hands cushioning the back of his head. Keith rolls over slowly, eyes drifting along Lance's bare chest. 

 

"You smell like a girl." Keith mutters, body moving closer. 

 

His skin is too hot; too feverish. 

 

Lance snorts, looking to where Keith has settled, "And what's wrong with that?"

 

Keith rolls his eyes, deciding maybe it would be better to face the wall anyway. He's barely moved an inch before Lance tugs him closer and Keith automatically throws his arm over Lance's waist, sighing in a way that seems slightly too intimate. 

 

"Now you'll smell like me." Lance teases, face smug, "I might even spray lavender on you as you sleep."

 

"Shut up." Keith says, scoffing. 

 

He expects Lance to retort with equal, if not more, attitude. 

 

But after a moment of silence, Keith risks glancing up, feeling an instant flush spread across his cheeks. 

 

Lance is asleep. His lashes rest on his cheeks in pretty swoops, a light spread of freckles splattered across his nose. Keith looks away before he does something stupid- like trace the freckles as if they were constellations. 

 

Instead, he glances down at his arm once more, distracting himself as his own eyes once again grow heavy. 

 

He tries to remember the man's words from all those nights ago, his shop dimly lit against the backdrop of the dark city. 

  

 _"It will come."_ He whispers, sending a chill down the length of Keith's spine,  _"And you cannot run from it."_

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

☼

 

"The water is dark." Keith says, voice catching on the breeze.

 

Gray clouds block the sun as they push through the waves, sprays of water hitting the side of the ship. The sails flap through the growing fog, ghostly apparitions flying high and wild above them.

 

Hunk is leaning over the rail, his dark hair brushing against his eyelashes, "We never go this way." He mutters, voice more serious than Keith is used to, "It's dangerous."

 

"Why are we then?" Keith asks, glancing behind him at the helm where Lance is quietly steering, his own eyes scanning through the fog.

 

Allura has her arms crossed as she paces across the deck, scanning the water and sky.  

 

Hunk whistles and they all hear it bounce off of the huge cliffs rising around them, "There's all kinds of stories but I don't know which are true...if any." He says. 

 

Keith sighs and feels the misty air fill his lungs, a slight burning sensation building momentarily in his chest. It's been four months since his brush with death and his body is still recovering. And, having kept it a secret;  _changing._

 

There are nights that Keith is sure he's burning alive, that the lightning strike has returned and sprouts from his chest, igniting every nerve throughout his entire body. On those nights, he's remains on the deck, not daring to lay with Lance or his own hammock in fear that he will shout aloud. 

 

Or shine. He shoves his arms into the sleeves of his jacket or Lance's borrowed coat, feet hanging from the bow as he bends his head against the wind, urging his hair to cover the corded veins glowing along his neck.

 

He leaves Hunk to stare at the water, chills rising along his skin as the frigid breeze travels between them. Lance glances at him and smiles as he makes his way up to the helm. Keith takes the wheel, ignoring the glimmer of defiance in Lance's expression, and keeps the ship on a steady course. 

 

He's found himself here more often than not these days, as if he were drawn again and again to the place of his collapse. 

 

"What are you looking for?" He asks, trying to distract himself from the intruding thoughts. 

 

"I''m risking a lot going this way." Lance admits, sighing before he lets his arms drop from their crossed position. He leans against the rail to watch Keith steer, "We're trying to find a cove. Then we're continuing North."

 

"Why a cove?" 

 

"I owe someone something." Lance grimaces, bringing his hand to rub at the back of his neck, mouth turning upward in a sly smirk, "Well, I owed it to him a year ago, actually."

 

"And why are you only getting it for him _now,_ exactly?" 

 

" _Well,"_ Lance starts, slightly defensive, "it really wasn't my fault. There was a storm and a few bottles of rum and a trader who had really,  _really_ nice Siradian slippers. The kind that would make you feel like you're stepping on the clouds."

 

Keith nods slowly, eyebrow raised, "A few bottles, huh?"

 

Lance scoffs, moving a strand of hair from his forehead with a flick of his wrist, "Let me finish." He waits a moment, eyeing Keith before continuing, "So, he shows me these slippers and promises me that they're made of  _genuine phoenix feathers._ Of course, I start to bargain with him, like any _civilized_ person would do. But little did I know that when I'm handing him a pair of ruby encrusted goblets, he has one of his goonies working behind my back to snatch whatever they could. Two days later and the owner of this particular item confronts me at port, demanding I give it to him.  Didn't even know it was missing at first, to tell you the truth. Too bad the swindler of a trader took it too soon, eh? " He shrugs as if Keith could piece together the rest. 

 

"So..." Keith says, "It was your fault."

 

"Details, details." Lance mumbles, waving a dismissive hand in front of him, "The only thing that matters is I  _finally_ found out where the guy stashed it and it's time for me to get it back. It's just a matter of getting there without any complications."

 

Keith smirks and rolls his eyes, letting the conversation fall to a comfortable silence. Lance moves closer and brings his fingers to play with the hair resting on the side of Keith's neck. He feels bumps rise on his skin, a heated flush working its way to his cheeks. 

 

"Are you hungry?" Lance suddenly asks, letting his hand fall. 

 

"I'll go." Keith says, sighing, "I'll be fast, Hunk won't even know I was there." He can't help the smile that forms on his face at Lance's pleased expression. 

 

Below deck, Keith makes his way through the sleeping quarters and toward the kitchen, the pleasant aroma hitting him before he even enters the room. A huge pot of something boils on the stove and he hesitates, head tilting curiously at its ability to remain so steady- not a drop spilled over the rim. 

 

He eyes the pot for a moment longer, wondering if some magic alarm created by Hunk would go off he simply stuck a finger in to taste. He lifts the lid and takes a whiff, watching as it bubbles. 

 

Too hot. 

 

Instead, he finds the bread and dried meat, adding a few pieces of cheese and Hunk's special sauce. He tries to arrange everything neatly, having memorized the exact position of each and every condiment. He places the food on a tin tray and makes his way to the door, only to be shoved to the side. 

 

Food flies around him as he falls, hands bracing to lessen the impact. The ship groans and shakes, each tremor making Keith's teeth clench. He's up before he can blink, running to the stairs that lead to the deck. Feeling the weight of the the sword on his hip, his fingers find the hilt with ease in preparation of a fight. 

 

The deck is silent as he ascends, each of his steps sounding louder than cannons. He freezes, eyes widening as he sees each member of the crew eerily still, like a palm tree in humid heat. 

 

Their eyes are shut, heads tilted, and Keith tries to listen for whatever it is they seem to hear. 

 

He turns immediately to Lance. 

 

The captain is kneeling. 

 

Only, his eyes are open and the blue of his iris's are alarmingly vibrant. 

 

"Lance?" Keith calls out, taking a few hesitant steps forward, eyebrows furrowing. 

 

And then, he hears it.

 

The voices wrap around Keith, sliding against his arms and legs like warm water and slimy seaweed. 

 

 _Gods and Goddesses,_ He thinks,  _singing just for them._

 

He relaxes, feeling his eyelids droop. The pleasantness only lasts for a moment because in the next, he's seemingly thrust into one of his dreams. 

 

There is a woman, her dark hair laying limp beside her in the dirt. Red. All he can see is red before he jolts away, his mind returning to him like a snapping of fingers-

 

He shakes his head as the voices turn sour, bitter; vicious. He covers his ears with his palms and looks with watery eyes toward the sea cliffs around them. There is movement, shadowed bodies holding spears, more of them jumping into the water. 

 

Instantly, Keith knows what they are. 

 

He bolts away from the deck and down the stairs, blinking away the heaviness of his lids and the nausea rising in his stomach, "Cotton." He mutters to himself, "Cotton, cotton, cotton."

 

He rips apart hammocks, goes through chests, opens pillows and sacks of belongings. He stumbles, feeling a weight press onto his shoulders. Shaking his head, he turns toward his own bed and flings his sheets away. Sweat beads on his forehead as his muscles strain, the fight to obey his own thoughts growing harder by the second. 

 

He swipes up his medallion and clasps it around his neck before taking a knife from beneath his pillow to rip open the bedding. He grabs the material and quickly rolls it between his palms until it's small enough to shove in his ears, successfully muffling the voices trying to get inside of him. 

 

His body sags with relief as he adds more, quick to grab handfuls to bring back to the deck. He takes the steps two at a time but skids to a stop when he surfaces, eyes widening at the clawed hands reaching over the railings of the ship. 

 

They scratch and dent the metal, splinter the wood with sickening cracks, before pulling lithe bodies up. 

 

The Siren's face is lean and covered in dark green scales, the white and yellow barnacles running the length of his neck and temples ranging in size. His eyes are hollow, teeth sharp and long as they snap at the air.

 

Keith drops all of the bedding and unsheathes his sword as the Siren boards the ship, long dark hair sliding against his slick skin.

 

The Siren immediately takes notice of Keith's covered ears and he hisses, "You're smarter than the rest." 

 

His voice is not like the singing from before. It sounds as if it hasn't been spoken above the waves in decades, each world tilting in strange ways, deep breaths racking his chest. 

 

Keith tightens his hold on the sword. 

 

  
"What do you want?" He asks, eyes sliding quickly to and away from Lance.

 

The Siren follows his gaze slowly, neck turning like that of an owl. 

 

"We're _hungry_." He says, snapping his teeth together before looking to Keith once again, "A ship hasn't passed through our home in months."

 

Keith takes a step forward but hesitates as more Siren's pull themselves up, large eyes taking in the crew. They look to the man, as if waiting for some indication of an order to drag all of Keith's friends to the bottom of the ocean. Keith notices that some can't leave the water, instead choosing to sit on the lowest levels of the cliffs, their huge tails wrapped around spears that are poised to soar. 

 

"I won't allow it." Keith says, snapping his eyes back to the Siren.

 

The Siren hisses again, "Enough talk. We have thousands. You have _one_."

 

Before the Siren can make another move, Keith is on him, sword swinging in an arc to cut through bone. The Siren screams and Keith winces, watching as a deep cut lines his belly. 

 

A stench quickly fills the air and the others crouch to attack, sharp translucent fins rising on their forearms and spines. A woman runs at Keith and then another, each moving with surprisingly swift agility; but Keith is faster. 

 

He swipes and jabs and slices until his muscles are weak, until his eyes burn from specks of hot grimy blood and sweat, ears ringing from the bedding rubbing against his eardrums. Another splotch of blood lands on his mouth and he gags before stumbling back, a clawed hand digging into his chest to rip open the front of his shirt. 

 

He grunts as his back hits the rail and he fears for a moment that he'll lose his balance; topple into the sea and be taken under to those waiting beneath. His medallion swings free of his shirt before he can stop it, the metal glinting even in the thick fog. 

 

He holds out his sword; a last attempt for victory. 

 

The crew has been left untouched, the Siren's no doubt wanting to take them away at the same time. 

 

They want a feast. 

 

The Siren who first spoke to Keith shouts in a language Keith has never heard, a language that is inhuman and higher pitched than should be possible. He limps forward, wound stuffed and covered with green muck. Pushing others out of his way, he eyes Keith's chest, pupils slitting like that of a cat. 

 

"Where did you get that?" He hisses, nails clicking together at his sides. 

 

Keith knows the Siren could easily slice his neck open or take off his hand, his own body too tired to carry on much longer. He points his sword toward movement on his right before bringing it back around, lip curling. 

 

The Siren studies Keith's face, eyes sweeping across his body before lunging toward Lance.

 

Keith feels panic rise in him swift as a storm and he straightens, watching helplessly as the Siren runs his long tongue against his teeth, "Tell me." He whispers, the word dragging out like a snake in the sand. 

 

"What will it take to make you leave?" Keith counters, fingers growing numb from holding the hilt of his sword so tightly. 

 

The Siren brings his focus back to Keith, "You fought well." He says, "But I won't bargain with you." 

 

He trills, high and loud and fast. Keith gasps as he's pulled away from the rail, another clawed hand grasping his hair as his legs are kicked out from beneath him. His knees hit the deck with a loud plunk, sword falling somewhere behind him. His head is yanked back as the Siren moves to snatch the medallion from his neck. 

 

The cord burns as it is pulled away and Keith feels it like a blade slicing his skin. 

 

"I'll kill you-" He growls, ignoring the sharp nails digging into his flesh. 

 

The Siren's laugh like metal grinding against metal. He watches in horror as the Siren ties it around his own neck, ignoring Keith as he motions for the others to part. Keith can see them sitting on the rails in ease now, as if they owned the Flag. 

 

But Keith doesn't care. 

 

All he can focus on is the silent, gentle footfalls of the Siren as he reaches the steps to the helm, his long hair now dried, flowing in the wind behind him. It shines like the ocean beneath the moon, a shimmering cascade of shadow. 

 

"I told you we were hungry!" The Siren suddenly calls out, earning a loud chorus from the others, "And what better meal than that of a captain?" 

 

He makes his way back to Lance slowly, eyes shifting toward Keith as if he were merely playing a game. The Siren holding Keith forces him to stand and walk forward, closer to the helm but too far to do much of anything. 

 

Keith feels a boiling inside of him as panic turns to frantic heart palpitations. 

 

He isn't above begging. 

 

"Please, stop!" He yells, "You can have the Flag! You can have the medallion, leave him-"

 

The nails on his arms dig deeper, trickles of his own blood spilling to the floor. 

 

The Siren tilts his head, "I already have it." He kneels in front of Lance and runs a long claw against his jaw, "Do you know what he sees?"

 

Keith can't respond, his throat feels like it's burning, his skin tightens in a familiar way. But he can't look away from Lance to check.

 

"He's seeing his past." Someone hisses beside him, delight lacing their words, "He's reliving it, over and over and over."

 

The Siren pulls Lance's head back now as he towers over him, much too close, "Maybe we should feast above the water." He murmurs, as if to himself. 

 

And then he's glancing at his people, "Above the water, for the first time in centuries!" 

 

They roar around Keith, moving without hesitation to grab at different crew members and Keith wishes he could move. He needs to see Hunk, to check for Allura-

 

His vision grows fuzzy as his body stings. It's too hot. He wants to scream at the sensation but he can't blink, not even as someone pushes him away with a loud hiss. 

 

"He isn't yours." Keith mutters, his body growing hotter still as the Siren rises, sunken eyes widening, "None of them are."

 

The Siren backs away to move behind Lance, his claws resting on the hollow his throat, "I will cut him to _pieces_."

 

"Then all of your people will burn!" Keith yells, words echoing, body shaking. 

 

The Siren hesitates and that's all the time Keith needs before he is up the stairs and grabbing the Siren's throat. Skin immediately sizzles and pops beneath his palm as the Siren screams, claws falling away from Lance to try to pry Keith's hands off. 

 

The claws melt before they reach Keith's skin. It takes only a moment for the heat to sear through him completely, muscle and tendon giving way to bone. Keith lets him fall in a heap before he turns back to the deck, mind practically blank as his veins grow brighter and brighter.

 

The Siren's scream and screech as they jump overboard, eyeing Keith's hand as it impulsively raises-

 

But nothing happens. 

 

They're gone. 

 

He blinks and stumbles forward, sucking in a huge breath of misty air as his body settles. As if released from a spell, Keith can once again hear his own thoughts. 

 

He doesn't even focus on it. He can't try to understand it now. 

 

He takes huge gulps of air as he turns to Lance, eyes momentarily skipping over the cliffs for signs of movement. He drops to his knees and looks at his hands, flipping them this way and that in fear that they still scorch. He places them against the deck but sees no melting of metal. Reaching hesitantly for Lance, he lets his fingertip rest against his sleeve. Relief spreads through him as it remains intact. 

 

"Lance?" He asks, voice hoarse and throat sore.

 

He lifts his hands to rest them upon Lance's cheeks, watching as he blinks slowly; completely dazed. His eyes fill with water and his breath begins to leave him in harsh pants.

 

"Lance!" Keith says again, louder. 

 

His eyes won't focus, instead seeing something Keith will never see, reliving a nightmare that he will never personally know. 

 

"It's alright." He says, moving closer to gently pick Lance's hands up in his own, bringing them to his own face and holding them there. 

 

"You're here." Keith says, trying to remember how his brother used to calm him down when he was a child, nightmares wracking through his mind in the depths of night, "The air is cool and the metal beneath us is colder still. Your hands are on me and you're  _safe._ You're here, Lance. With me."

 

Lance blinks again and again, irises meeting Keith's before quickly flitting away, "I'm-" His voice breaks as he takes in the ship, the sails, the sky. 

 

"You're here." Keith nods at the feel of Lance's thumbs shifting on his cheeks. 

 

Suddenly, Lance shudders and falls forward, head heavy on Keith's shoulder. He doesn't seem to notice the stench or drying blood coated on Keith's skin as he lays his forehead against the side of Keith's neck. 

 

"They're gone." Lance whispers, fingers gripping tight to Keith's tattered shirt. 

 

Keith doesn't say anything, not knowing if Lance speaks of the Siren's or someone else. Instead, he chooses to help Lance up and into his arms. He ignores the aching of his muscles and the shaking of his knees as he opens Lance's cabin door, thankful that the room is untouched. 

 

He lays him gently on the bed, "I'll be right back." He says, waiting for Lance to agree with a small nod before racing back to the helm. 

 

Keith winces at the sight of the Siren, avoiding his slack face as he quickly snatches the medallion away from the scorched chain and gore. He heaves the Siren along the floor until he reaches the rail, using the last bit of his strength to shove him over. The Siren hits the water with a loud splash. 

 

Behind him the crew is slowly waking, taking in the bodies around them, calmer than Keith would have expected. 

 

He wonders if they were simply blank the entire time, unaware of the attack- luckier than their own captain had been. 

 

"They're all dead." Keith calls out, pushing through the crew to the stairs leading below deck. He finds his sword and sheathes it, "Throw them over. They belong to the sea."

 

He ignores the questions, even managing to pull his eyes away from Allura's concerned gaze so that he can wash off as quickly as possible. Hunk finds him as he begins to dress, a slightly cleaner shirt falling over his tired body. 

 

"That needs to be cleaned properly." Hunk nods toward the punctures on Keith's arms, the scratches on his chest, watching as he slides his sword onto his bed before pulling the sheets to hide the destroyed fabric. 

 

He picks up his medallion again and shoves it into his pocket, feeling the weight settle. 

 

"I know." He says, trying to smile but unable to find the energy. 

 

Hunk opens his mouth as if he wants to say something but decides against it, moving instead to let Keith pass. 

 

He makes his way back to Lance, calling out orders to keep their course straight ahead. He tells them to find cotton to plug their ears at the first sign of a strange sensation, if it were to return at all; that the voices are anything but divine. 

 

And then he is finally back inside of Lance's cabin, lighting one of the incense on his bolted desk, the musky smell floating into the air before he climbs into the bed. Lance rolls over and presses close, his dark skin warmer than Keith has ever felt it. 

 

His eyes find Keith's, the blue of the sea during a raging storm, as if each drop of water were slowly filling them up to spill. 

 

Neither of them speak, not even a word, though Keith swears anything they could say is reflected by the simple way they touch. 

 

The two of them stay like that for a long time, their shared breaths growing more even as the time passes, until they've both fallen into a deep sleep. 

 

☼

 

Keith wakes to a cold pressure on his chest. 

 

He stirs and tries to push the prodding sensation away, earning a quiet chuckle in response. The cold spreads, swiping along his skin until Keith understands what it actually is. 

 

The growing sting of a wound being cleaned. 

 

Lance hums quietly and brings his mouth to Keith's stomach, finally making him open his eyes. The room is cast in shadow, the flickering of a normal lantern swinging from the ceiling above the door. Keith tries to sit up, eager to check on him, but Lance quickly straddles him. 

 

Keith falls back against the pillows, the satin sheets cool against his skin. 

 

Lance moves his hands up Keith's stomach, "I'm trying to thank you." He smirks. 

 

Finally noticing the increasingly blue glow of Lance's eyes, he is relieved to see the absence of tears. He wants to ask if he's truly alright, to question what it was the Siren made him see, but the frosted fingertips against his ribs makes him shiver; no doubt Lance's plan from the start. 

 

He wonders, briefly, at the strangeness of time. Was it really not so long ago that he'd hesitated to press his lips against Lance's? To run a hand along his arm?

 

"Is the sun even up?" Keith asks, hands reaching for Lance's hips. 

 

His palms settle like a piece of a puzzle and he takes joy in seeing Lance quiver. Leaning forward, Lance lets his chest rest against Keith's. His lips stir the hair at Keith's ear and he bites softly, moving his tongue slowly to trace down and down and down. 

 

Keith shuts his eyes to keep them from rolling back, noticing that Lance never answered his question. 

 

But, in the end, he finds that he doesn't really mind. 

 

☼

 

Afterwords, Lance lays atop him breathless, his skin glimmering bronze in the candlelight, perspiration trickling. 

 

"There was no need for thanks." Keith says after his breathing has returned to normal, "We protect each other."

 

 

 

☼

 

 

 

Far across the land, beneath a great heap of boiling stone and steam, there is a stirring. 

 

And the creature who felt a flash of heat only hours ago finally opens its eyes.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, this was one of my favorite chapters to write lol


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

The cove is larger than they expected as they emerge from between two towering cliffs. Keith can't decide whether he should look a the cliffs themselves or the looming mass of rock opening up before them. The tallest sand dune in the desert had nothing on these. 

 

The deck has been scrubbed clean, leaving no trace of blood or gore behind. Necklaces and other jewelry were confiscated from the bodies of the Siren's before they were thrown overboard, but Keith had no true desire to keep any of the riches for himself. 

 

Instead, he's found himself running his fingers along the smooth ridge of his medallion whenever he gets the chance, reminding himself that he didn't let it fall over the side of the ship too. 

 

"Anchor!" Allura shouts, voice bouncing and echoing like there were twenty of her surrounding them in the fog. 

 

Hunk and few others start to lower the gigantic metallic anchor, it's hooked sides glinting in what little light is able to shine through the dark clouds above. 

 

"How do we even know it's still there?" Keith wonders aloud, arms folded in quiet disdain. 

 

He tries to measure the distance from the ship to the sandy, pebbled shore, the murky water moving only because the ship makes it so. 

 

Allura bumps into him gently, shoulder to shoulder, "It'll be fun!" She teases, voice rising to reach the rest of the crew as well, "Think of the treasures waiting inside! That old bastard probably hoarded years of shit, just waiting for the taking!"

 

Keith smirks, letting his arms fall as the large rowboat meant to take them to shore rises out of the corner of his eye, "Couldn't we just fly there?" 

 

"No." Hunk sighs, no doubt wishing more than Keith that they could, "Our ship would hit the rocks before we could blink." He motions to the huge boulders and jagged juts of stone surrounding the edge of the cove, some raised even farther above it. 

 

It reminds him of bones, a pyre of something forgotten, dangerous and mysterious and more trouble for what it's worth.

 

Sighing in resignation, Keith wanders to the boat and grabs onto the rope before swinging himself inside. Lance bounces out of his cabin, a large leather bag strung over his shoulder. He spots Keith already in the boat and smiles, a lone dimple making a fleeting appearance. 

 

Keith smirks and turns his face away, trying and failing to hide the flush from the crew. 

 

 

☼

 

"Which way?" Hunk whispers again, voice carrying above their heads. 

 

Water trickles around them, most falling to hit their shoulders and faces, making Keith's hair damp and cold. Their torches shin with bright blue light, casting shadows dancing along the walls and towering ceiling, stone shining with pinpricks of mineral. 

 

Allura bites her lip and wipes a drop of water away from her cheek, "We just have to keep going forward." She says, nodding. 

 

Whether to herself or them, Keith isn't too sure. 

 

He sighs and continues to follow close behind, his boots crunching on old shells and pebbles. This place must flood when the tide is high. 

 

Lance is behind him and Keith is almost too conscious of it, of the way he takes big gulps of air the further they travel inside. Keith turns to glance at him, eyebrow raised in question. 

 

"I don't like small spaces." Lance explains, shrugging. 

 

"Probably wouldn't like Branlin, then." Keith muses. 

 

"The desert is like the ocean, isn't it? Open and wide and free." Lance says, "How could I not like it?" 

 

Keith shakes his head, "Not the desert. My house. We only had one room, really. And the ceilings are low, stacked one atop the other."

 

Lance nods his head and Keith continues, "Every house in my city was connected. If you lived further out you could get away with an actual house, with room to thrive. But it's almost impossible to survive on your own. There are nomads looking for coin, sand storms that last for hours. They could be brutal. Don't make it inside fast enough and that's it, you're gone."

 

"So living in the city, surrounded by others, helped lessen your troubles?" Lance asks, genuine interest lacing his tone as he moves to walk beside Keith. 

 

Hunk grunts, wondering the same. 

 

"Mostly." Keith says, letting a nostalgic smile rise, "We could help one another when we saw a storm brewing. Sky would gather in a wall of sand, red as the dunes at dusk. We'd close the windows, bring in the animals and stragglers, slip a few pieces of food from the stands left in the open. The city had a huge bell and when it rang, you'd have to drop everything you were doing and get somewhere safe. It was either a raid from a nomadic tribe or the sand...I thought it was fun when I was a kid. Everyone would be focused on survival. No fighting or stealing with the consequence of blood. No killing."

 

It's quiet for a moment as they turn a corner, lost in their thoughts. 

 

Hunk opens his mouth to ask another question but Allura suddenly stops, her long silver hair swishing behind her in a braid. Hunk lets out a yelp, an inch away from running into her back. 

 

"I think-"

 

"Found it!" Lance says, excitement ringing. 

 

He strides forward, dark blue eyes wide and alert. 

 

Keith shuffles around them until the cove opens up, a large body of water resting between them and a far shore. He's never seen a lake but he's almost certain this is what one must look like, the same pebbles from outside resting in abundance at the water's edge. 

 

The water is very still, not even a ripple moving; no sign of life. Keith spots a strange bridge to their right, some of the planks missing but looking sturdy nonetheless. It leads to the middle of the lake, to a rise of large rock littered by objects and crates, shining riches visible even in the water beneath. At the top, like a beacon, there is a small object. 

 

It's rectangular and silver, looking to Keith as if it were molded shut, yet somehow retaining importance. 

 

That has to be it. 

 

"Woah, woah, woah." Lance says, grabbing Keith's arm, "Where are you going?"

 

Keith glances at his hand and then back to the bridge, "To get what we came for." He says slowly, as if it were obvious.

 

Lance shakes his head, "I'll be getting it-"

 

"Why does it matter?" Keith asks, trying to pull his arm away. 

 

Lance lets go but blocks his path, raising his hands as if to ward him back. 

 

" _I_ lost it." He says, "So I should be the one to retrieve it."

 

Keith rolls his eyes, "I'll be quick, it's not-"

 

"Uh, guys? I think..I think you're both a bit too late." Hunk interrupts, making both of them turn around. 

 

He points to the bridge with a sheepish grin. 

 

Allura is running, her steps light and sure as they hit the old wood. She jumps over missing planks but finds her balance easily enough, her laugh echoing back to them. The bridge sways behind her, creaking and swooshing. 

 

_"Great."_ Lance mutters, folding his arms. 

 

When Allura reaches the rocks, she takes a moment to find the correct places to grip with her hands and boots before starting the climb, strong limbs pulling her up swiftly. She reaches for the object and the case comes off with a twist, making them all freeze, as if something were waiting to pop out at them. 

 

Hunk lets out a strange noise, running a hand through his hair anxiously. 

 

"Too easy." He mumbles as Allura turns and holds the item up in the air victoriously, a grin making her face shine brighter than the sun. 

 

"What?" Keith asks, turning to look at Hunk.

 

He glances around them, up the walls, at the water, "There's always a trap." He says, "You find the treasure, you pick it up and  _boom!_ The walls cave in, the place floods, we're trapped within a cage of spikes-"

 

Lance snickers, "Don't worry, she's already coming back."

 

Keith almost allows himself to feel relief. 

 

But there is a ripple in the water, huge bubbles rising to pop on the surface closest to the bridge. And then the wood is breaking apart in flying pieces, a waterfall of water spraying them, raining down as if invisible clouds had erupted from above. 

 

Keith covers his ears as a loud hissing growl, eerily similar to that of the Siren's, makes the walls shake. 

 

_"I told you!"_ Hunk shouts above the growl.

 

Allura has fallen but holds the item close to her chest, loose strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks as she stares up in horror at the giant serpent. She slowly gets to her feet on the part of the bridge that remains intact but she's unsteady, having nothing to hold on to for balance. 

 

The serpent is bigger and taller than any creature Keith ever encountered in the desert, its long neck weaving like a snake as it shakes water from dark green fins sprouting from its head. Scales shift as it opens its mouth, unhinging its jaw, revealing two long fangs and row upon row of jagged teeth. It roars, pushing Allura back from the force of it. 

 

"Shit!" Keith whispers, instantly moving from his frozen position. 

 

He sprints forward, hearing Hunk and Lance follow close behind, their voices rising in determination. 

 

"Over here!" Keith screams, picking up a hefty stone to chuck at the beast. 

 

He feels momentary relief as Allura manages to shuffle even further back, waiting until the serpent has turned its head, all attention shifting to Keith. Allura gets to her feet and darts forward, boots sliding against the damp wood, quickly judging the distance between open water and the shore. 

 

Keith nods when she glances at him and he snatches the torch from Hunk. 

 

"We have to make it follow us!" He shouts and wastes no more time before grabbing Lance's hand, pulling close behind. 

 

Hunk somehow ends up in front of them, his boots kicking up pebbles as he takes off the way the originally came. 

 

Lance tightens his grip on Keith's hand and he only has to glance back once to know that they are indeed being followed. The serpent slides slowly out of the water, two eyelids blinking to reveal blue and green opal colored irises. 

 

"Faster!" Lance shouts and Keith tugs him closer, their breath leaving them in harsh pants as they pick up speed. 

 

Keith wills himself not to slip on the slick floor; to not loosen his grip on Lance's fingers. Hunk urges them forward with distant calls but Keith can no longer see him. 

 

"To the left!" Lance yells. 

 

The serpent howls, it's scales brushing against the stone as it's huge body twists to follow. 

 

They take a left and a right and Keith impulsively throws the torch behind him, letting the flame hit the serpent in the face. 

 

Sparks fly. 

 

"If it wasn't angry before-" Lance huffs out, "it is now!"

 

They run up an incline but come face to face with a dead end and Keith feels his blood run cold. 

 

"I thought this was the way out!" He shouts, trying to push Lance behind him. 

 

He holds his arms out, listening as the beast glides closer, turning a distant corner. Without the torch, the cove has become dark as night itself. Lance pulls at him until they're both struggling to stand in front of the other, almost comical in their haste if not for the dire situation gaining on them. 

 

Lance's skin begins to pulse with blue light and Keith wishes he could control his own. He wishes he could call upon it now, as swiftly as he did when faced with the Siren's. 

 

"Stay back." Lance says, pushing at Keith, "I have an idea."

 

"What?" 

 

Lance doesn't answer, instead opting to keep a hand on Keith's abdomen, trying his best to keep him back. Keith has no time to fight against it as the beast rounds the final corner. He realizes now that it has legs and claws, the telltale scrape of them making the hairs on his arms rise, but it's giant body stays very close to the ground. No doubt ideal for powerful strokes beneath the waves. 

 

"Lance." Keith whispers, urgent. 

 

Lance hushes him and moves his hand slowly to the sheath on his hip, fingers deftly pulling at the hilt of his long sword. Keith hears it begin to slide free with a click. It's the longest blade he'd ever seen, the edges seemingly coated with diamond, the hilt wrapped in leather and sterling silver. A skull and crossbones is etched into the blade, deep and rough and threatening. 

 

The serpent lets out a hiss and Keith shivers, eyes trying to find Lance's form as he slowly shifts through the darkness, the blue of his skin fading as if he simply willed it so. 

 

_"Lance!"_ Keith whispers again, the returning silence making Keith's chest lurch violently, "What are you doing-"

 

Suddenly, Lance bursts forward, shining bright with a quick flash. His sword swings free and the beast roars, leaning it's long neck down, huge jaw opening to rip Lance from the ground. But it never has the chance. 

 

It's entire form begins to shudder and Keith wants to cover his ears as it lets out a shattering noise that only be described as a panicked scream. Lance's sword pierces the flesh of its neck beneath a small patch of scale-free skin and travels downward, his boots sliding against the wet and slimy ground. The slick surface allows him to practically soar beneath the serpent, ripping scales and flesh away with the sharp edge of his sword. The serpent tries to get away, fins twitching with spastic jerks. 

 

Lance lets out a loud yell as he finally reaches it's belly and Keith is hit with a horrible stench, like rotten fish and gully piss, like the darkest parts of the sea. He tries to find Lance, find a way to pull him back to him. He opens his mouth to shout-

 

Instead, another voice reaches his ears. 

 

A high scream and the pounding of boots and then there is Allura, her hair shining like starlight from the torch she slings aside. Her aim is strong as two blades are thrown into the serpent's side, allowing her to grab hold and swing herself up onto it's large head. 

 

Keith runs for the tossed torch and raises it, eyes finally catching the scene. 

 

Allura catches Lance's thrown sword like it's been done hundreds of times and before Keith can take another breath, she is slamming it into the beast's head, using the full weight of her body to push it down. She avoids the sharp fins as the serpent shakes its head rapidly, rearing back. But she doesn't let go and with one final push the blade finds the internal target, sinking the rest of the way with ease. 

 

The serpent's body falls to earth, making the ground shake and rumble beneath them. 

 

The torch in Keith's hand flickers from the impact. 

 

Dust and sand takes time to settle when Keith finally spots Lance kneeling by the serpent's head. Allura has climbed down and is trying to pull the knives free from it's hide with no luck. 

 

"Are you okay?" Keith asks them, bringing the light forward. 

 

Lance has placed a bloody hand on the serpent, his fingers light as he brushes them over scale and skin. 

 

Allura walks up to them, knives forgotten as she wipes blood on the material of her pants. 

 

"He hates killing creatures." She explains, watching Lance. 

 

Keith had hunted all the time in the desert, never thinking much about it. 

 

But as he watches Lance take one more look at the sea serpent, he can't help but wish that he had. It's melancholy in the wake of victory; a quiet mourning. There is no boasting, no bragging for the kill. Keith moves to place his hand on Lance's lower back as he stands, ignoring the grime and stench that follows. 

 

"Time to go." Lance says, turning away from the serpent. 

 

He reaches back, as if knowing Keith would meet him half way, fingers lacing tight. 

 

 

☼

 

Hunk has rounded up a group, his frantic voice reaching them as they shuffle from the mouth of the cove. More sunlight has begun to shine through the clouds, enough to warm them as Keith takes in the clearer air. 

 

He laughs as Hunk lets out a relieved yelp and runs toward them. Keith finds comfort in his strong arms as he grabs him up, beginning to swing him to and fro.

 

"You have no idea how worried I was!" Hunk says, squeezing Keith against him, "I was going to get you all out! I thought you were right behind me and I turned around and you were gone, I thought-"

 

"Hunk, buddy.." Keith starts, breath beginning to sting at the pressure on his ribs.

 

"Oh." Hunk lets him go with a huff, "Sorry."

 

Keith takes in a huge gulp of air, smirking as Hunk moves on to fret over Allura. He shakes his head and leaves them behind, their voices rising and falling as he approaches the new rowboats rocking against the tide. He wonders how Hunk managed to get the crew's attention so quickly. 

 

Lance is standing by the water, his hands placed behind his head, face turned toward the sky. Sunlight falls across his face, against the exhausted crease between his brows. 

 

"Once, we're away from this cursed cove and heading to port," He says, letting out a deep breath, "we're going back to the sky."

 

Keith chuckles and agrees, gaze catching on the item resting by Lance's feet. He thinks back to the serpent they had to leave behind, safer slaughtered than led to the rest of the crew. 

 

He hopes they can return the damned thing as quickly as possible. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Keith had never seen snow before.

 

The deck of the ship is now being swabbed constantly to keep it ice-free and Keith is grateful, having slipped one too many times already. Between the cleaning of weapons and steering the ship, he finds himself standing at the bow to watch the gentle swirl of ice leaving the clouds.

 

Hunk gave him thick wool gloves to keep his hands and fingers dry but he can't help taking them off to feel the little stings of flakes as they hit his warm skin. The chilled wind makes his cheeks redden and tingle and he enjoys lifting his face to meet them, eyes closed, lips upturned. The gray clouds drift lazily above them as they draw closer to their destination, yet a sinking feeling settles within Keith's gut.

 

He knows, now that they've left warm weather behind, that this is his last stop.

 

"Three days to port." Lance says as he joins him, his own blue coat thick on his arms and legs.

 

He rests his hand on Keith's cheek and Keith lets him bring their lips together for a gentle peck.

 

Keith marvels at the soft touch before they break away, Lance using his hands to lean against the rail, blue eyes watching the horizon. Keith thinks that he'll never forget those eyes, the way they bore into his own like they'd seen him for hundreds of years and had never grown tired from looking.

 

 _I'll never forget his warmth,_ Keith thinks, watching Lance's hair brush against his brown cheek, _like the sun is bottled up inside of him._

 

"This is the farthest North that I've gone." Lance says quietly, a fog of breath escaping his lips as the heat meets air.

 

Keith feels his throat tighten and he looks down, his mood darkening with each passing second.

 

He sees Lance glance at him from the corner of his eye but he can't bring himself to meet his gaze as he says, "Have you ever been to the Capitol? To the heart of the Empire?"

 

Lance scoffs before turning and lowering himself to sit. His back rests against the ship as he watches crew members roam. Keith looks down at him, seeing his fingers twirl a ring around and around.

 

"I've never needed to." He finally says, reaching to tug at Keith's leg.

 

"Would you, though?" Keith asks as take his place beside him, watching as Lance brings his hand higher upon Keith's thigh.

 

He lets it rest there, playing absently with the fabric of his pants.

 

Lance is quiet for a long moment and Keith worries he's caught on to the goal of his questions. He worries Lance is trying to end whatever it is between them, that adventure is where his heart will always rest.

 

 _Not with me,_ Keith thinks.

 

"I love the sea." Lance finally says, "It's the only home I've had for a very long time."

 

Keith nods, cursing the tears that threaten to build. Cursing the ache in his chest.

 

"But," Lance continues, bringing his eyes up to study Keith's hand as it now plays anxiously with his fingers, "Sometimes home isn't really a place."

 

Before Keith can even think of a reply, Hunk is bounding up the stairs, his voice carrying loud across the deck, "Who's hungry? It's finally cold enough for some warmer brew, don't ya' think?" He laughs, folding his arms as everyone scurries past him to the kitchen below.

 

He meets Keith's eyes and motions to him, a big grin on his face.

 

Keith is the one to stand first, glancing behind him as he starts to walk away. Lance, now standing as well, has turned back to the open air, his hands pushed deep into his coat pockets.

 

"Aren't you coming?" Keith calls, reaching out a hand.

 

It reminds him, for a split second, of so long ago. When he'd risked taking Lance's hand, of allowing the fierce pirate to pull him aboard this massive ship.

 

Now, it seems, it's Lance's turn to grab hold.

 

Lance takes a moment but eventually turns away from the cold sea, the beginnings of a sullen smile forming on his face, "Of course."

 

 

☼

 

 

The city of Ilarath is covered in inches of snow as the sun begins to set.

 

Keith sheathes his sword and double checks that his medallion is safe inside of his pocket as he makes his way to the dock, his steps feeling sluggish and heavy. Almost everyone else has already left the ship, eager to find a warm place to drink or rest. He pictures a fluffy bed, wondering if he could even find one more comfortable than Lance's.

 

He tries to smother the thought before it can escalate.

 

"Will you come with me?" Lance suddenly asks, his gloved hand finding its place in Keith's, fingers inching to lace tightly together.

 

Keith nods, spotting the bag resting on Lance's shoulder.

 

Lance shrugs in explanation, "Rolo's alright. I just don't particularly trust him considering the last time we saw one another, we'd had blades to each other's throats."

 

"So I'm your backup?" Keith smirks, sidestepping people as they work to keep the snow from building up along the cobbled walkways.

 

Lance just nods and tugs him forward, boots leaving prints in the snow. 

 

Many of the buildings they pass look warm but they don't continue toward the heart of the city where the baked goods and shops are. Instead, they cut through alleyways and Keith smiles fondly at the memory of their trip to Pidge's bungalow.

 

Only, the way they're going now grows harsher, the streets having become less crowded. Some buildings crumble and some look vacant altogether, their windows hollow and dark. The people they do see look gruff and guarded, many watching them with interest as they pass.

 

Lance doesn't seem too worried, instead focusing on the path ahead. He leads them to one of the few buildings with constant activity. Keith can see people leaning against their open windows, smoke and ember floating toward the sky from the long tobacco pipes in their hands. Lance pushes through the front door and Keith is surprised to see a bar and tables, one fire sending pulses of hot air from the corner of the room. He wants to scoop the flames up and hold them close, until his frozen face has found it's color.

 

Instead, they walk around the bar with a nod from Lance to the man pouring drinks and Keith tries not to look too long at the hole where his eyes should be. He wonders how the man lost it. If he'd once been a pirate, sending men and women to watery graves, or if perhaps it was something as simple as a bar fight.

 

The hallways they soon find themselves walking down is dimly lit with candles planted to the walls, the dark wax having made permanent puddles on the floor.

 

Various smells of tobacco and incense assault Keith's nose, making him want to sneeze as they stop in front of a large door, the golden knocker shaped like an octopus. Keith stares at it while Lance knocks, letting go of his hand to pull the satchel closer to his body. 

 

They hear footsteps inside and the sliding of metal, like sword being unsheathed. 

 

Keith freezes, eyes narrowing. He places his own hand on the hilt of sword but Lance shakes his head, stopping him in his tracks. 

 

The door swings open and Keith's eyes trail up long legs, the flash of a knife strapped to a slender thigh escaping from the confines of a dark grey dress. It reminds him of gunpowder, of the slide and lock of a pistol. 

 

"Hello, Lance." The woman drawls. 

 

"Nyma." Lance greets, leaning against the doorway. 

 

He smirks in a way that sets Keith's nerves on edge. 

 

Nyma rolls her eyes and glances at Keith, raising a sharp brow in question. 

 

"I'm here to see Rolo." Lance sighs, gesturing into the dimly lit room, dropping all acts of pleasantries. 

 

Nyma hesitates, tilting her head as if she can hear something they can't. 

 

"Fine." She hums, "But  _he_ has to stay out here." She nods to Keith. 

 

"No way." Keith grumbles, fingers itching to find his sword again.

 

He shuffles closer to Lance and Nyma gets a knowing look on her pretty face, glancing slyly between the two. 

 

Lance walks forward, "It'll be fine." He says to Keith, waving at him to stay behind. 

 

Keith clenches his fists as he sees movement deeper inside the room. Rolo, if he's presuming correctly, leans against a dark wooden desk. His eyes are shadowed by the hood of a wide hat, the tint to his skin strange in the flickering candle light. 

 

Nyma steps back and allows Lance to enter but she shakes her head at Keith with an apologetic smile. The door slams before he can move again and he wants to kick it in, to stand at his place beside Lance. 

 

Instead, he huffs and leans against the door, fingers making absentminded letters as he listens to the muffled voices inside. He closes his eyes and leans closer, hearing the scrape of a heavy chair. 

 

His thoughts drift, to snow and warm ale and rest. 

 

Suddenly, there is a loud crash and yelling, two voices rising in quick succession. 

 

Keith jumps away from the door and steadies his stance, "Lance!" He shouts, but there is no reply. 

 

There is silence. 

 

Panic shoots through him and he doesn't think twice as he brings his foot up, using all of his strength to kick the door in. It splinters and he backs away, making sure his shoulder is ready for the impact he plans to put it through. He runs and closes his eyes but feels no wood, instead finding himself falling through the air at an alarming speed. He lands on his ass, hands planted behind him to stop his head from smashing against the floor. 

 

He gasps in pain as the sharp tip of a sword is pressed to his throat. 

 

 _"No!"_ Lance screams but Keith can't move to see if he's alright, "He's mine, he's with me!" 

 

The man, Rolo, makes a click with his tongue and leaves the sword a moment longer. When he finally lets it fall away, Keith stands and instantly turns to Lance's voice. Relief floods him when he sees him behind the desk, the large metallic case resting in his hands. 

 

Papers are strewn across the room and a chair has been tipped over, looking like a small storm had ripped through. A huge fireplace is lit on the other side of the room, its flames shooting up into a thin chimney. 

 

"You will be paying for this." Rolo says, slamming the door shut again, glancing at the broken chair. 

 

The upholstery is obviously expensive, thick leather free of scratches and cracks. But the deep cherry wooded legs are snapped, splintered at the base. 

 

Nyma is snickering as she lifts a dark bottle of liquor up to her lips. She eyes Keith but makes no move to intervene. 

 

Lance sighs, "I believe this is payment enough." He lifts the case a little higher. 

 

"It's only worth something if you get it  _open."_ Rolo counters, pushing Keith out of the way as he strides to his desk. He glances at Keith only once, "If you speak of what you see tonight, I will kill you."

 

Keith sneers as Lance sets the object down harder than he probably should have, "You'll find yourself beneath the waves if you so much as touch a hair upon his head." 

 

Rolo simply grunts and motions back to the case, brushing off Lance's threat with a wave of his hand. 

 

Lance lets his face relax and motions for Keith to come forward, "We've tried everything. If we can't get it open, I don't get paid...or forgiven." He purses his lips at Rolo and Keith can see why he would want to be out of the man's way. 

 

His skin is scarred beneath the sleeves of his red cloak and Keith can see multiple guns strapped to his hips, the barrels large and long. He tries to peer closer at the man's face but only gets a short view as he turns toward the fire. 

 

 _Pirate._ Keith confirms, seeing the scarred flesh of his cheek. 

 

A crude skull and crossbones is seared like a patch, skin puckered from time. 

 

Keith finally looks away and takes the case into his hands, seeing it up close for the first time. 

 

"Something is inside." He murmurs, leaning it to the right. 

 

Nyma puts down her drink and moves to Keith's side, bringing a waft of alcohol and something floral in her wake. She runs a long finger down the side, clicking her nail against it. 

 

"We haven't tried  _everything."_ She says, her voice tilting playfully. 

 

Rolo folds his arms, his white hair brushing the bridge of his nose. She plucks the item up from Keith's hands, tossing it between her slim fingers as she saunters to the large fireplace against the wall. Her thigh escapes the slit in her dress again, making the metal of her dagger flash dangerously. Keith wonders just how lethal she is, noting to try to stay on her good side. 

 

"What-" Rolo starts but his sentence ends abruptly in a panicked shout as she throws the case into the flames. 

 

Lance comes out from behind the desk and watches as Rolo hurries to fire, reaching out as if he could pull it from the flames and back into his hands. Nyma grabs his wrist, keeping him in place. 

 

"Just wait." She says, large eyes never leaving the fire. 

 

Keith follows her gaze and steps closer, drawn to the heat like a moth to flame. The case glows a brilliant orange and cracks appear on the glass, bright shards slowly chipping away in flashes of rainbow. 

 

They wait, watching as inch by the inch, the case falls apart. He wonders if it's been coated in some strange magic. 

 

Another layer begins to disintegrate like paper, until something golden takes its place. The object is oval in shape, looking smooth like molten gold. He lets out a breath as the flames illuminate the surface- as Rolo lets out a victorious shout. 

 

"What is it?" Keith wonders aloud. 

 

Lance shakes his head, wonder filling his voice, "I didn't think it was true." He says, " They were all destroyed generations ago." 

 

Keith furrows his brows and shuffles closer, until he's kneeling in front of the fire, "It looks like an egg-"

 

Nyma places a hand against the mantle of a fireplace, "Of a dragon." 

 

"Dragons are extinct." Keith says, feeling a strange sensation run the length of his spine. 

 

"Don't worry, this egg is practically frozen. It won't hatch." Rolo chuckles darkly, "But it  _will_ sell for a very lovely price."

 

☼

 

Keith has been pondering their visit to the other Captain for the last fifteen minutes, watching from a tavern window as a large bonfire is built near the center square of the city. Flags wave in the air from atop buildings and children wear their warmest clothes as they trample through the snow, excited to hear the beating of drums, quick stringed instruments and whistling flutes. 

 

Lance left him a short while ago to find food and drink in the crowded tavern but Keith lost sight almost immediately, his lone form swallowed by eager customers. His stomach grumbles as he watches sellers push their carts along the street, following the huge stream of people. 

 

Men and women carry torches to light their paths. He catches sight of those tasked with stacking the wood and those waiting with the flames to light it. He feels the weight of his medallion resting on his chest, the newly bought chain sturdy and tough. 

 

His mind goes back, repeatedly, to the golden dragon egg. To the glow of red within the core, the shimmering exterior. In a way, he wishes he could have taken it for himself. It doesn't sit well with him, the thought of Rolo selling it in an underground market, one hidden from the eyes of the Emperor. 

 

He wonders if the mad king would want it for himself if he heard word if its existence, if he'd rip it from the hands of a buyer and find a way to use the frozen embryo as a weapon.

 

"Will you dance with me tonight?" A voice says in his ear, loud enough to be heard over the voices surrounding them. 

 

Keith turns to Lance, a small smile brought to his lips as he takes the warm mug offered to him, pushing away thoughts of long-dead dragons and kings and markets full of strange things. He sips the apple ale, wanting to close his eyes against the warmth. 

 

Lance waits until he's done drinking to hand him the food, a simple plate of meat and bread. 

 

"You know I don't like to dance." Keith says, taking a large bite. 

 

Lance steps closer but doesn't push, instead settling to watch as Keith takes another hearty gulp of his drink. 

 

"What?" Keith asks, feeling a burst of heat rise along his neck. 

 

Lance shakes his head and laughs, looking away to watch the scene outside. Light snow has begun to fall once again and Keith feels a pang of homesickness for the burning sand beneath his feet. For the sun reflecting off of warm waves. 

 

He finishes his meal and drink quickly, probably a tad too fast, seeing as Lance is still chewing upon his own bread. Keith tries to keep his thoughts away from the end of the night. From the plans he has to take to the road and finally reach the first stronghold of soldiers in the Empire, to begin his questions and complete his search. 

 

"Do you want to see the fire up close?" Lance asks and Keith shakes away his thoughts, instead spotting the beginning of flames as they climb higher and higher. 

 

He nods and they push their way out of the loud tavern, instantly met with the loud sound of deep hollow drums. Lance grabs his hand, pulling him along and Keith feels his own eyes widen the closer they draw to the bonfire. 

 

He feels taken over by the size, having to crane his neck to see the top. He glances at the edges of the buildings and hanging roofs surrounding them, knowing they've done this before but feeling a tug of worry nonetheless. 

 

The warmth hits them quickly and Keith lets out a laugh, taking off his gloves the feel the heat against his palms. The music is in full swing now as people begin to dance and shout, their voices rising in excitement. In a city this big, Keith wonders if they come together like this often. 

 

The music is different than Keith is used to, somehow heavier against the night air. Lance takes his gloves off as well and tugs at Keith's hand, lacing their fingers together as Keith tries to drag his attention away from the brilliant flames. 

 

They reflect in Lance's eyes, a strange combination of blue and orange. Lance pulls him closer still, until his arms are wrapped around Keith's waist and his lips are at his ear. 

 

"Are you leaving me tonight?" 

 

Keith loses his breath for a moment, shutting his eyes tight against the question. As if he could open them again and be miles upon miles backward in their journey, until he could feel the hot air brush against his skin as they rise high into the sky for the first time.

 

"I have to." He says, clutching the lapel of Lance's coat tight between his fingers. 

 

To anyone else they simply look like two lovers embracing, joyous at the celebration. But Keith feels no joy as Lance starts to pull away. 

 

Lance searches his face and Keith knows it is far too open, relaying all of his emotions at once. And it's sudden, the way he knows he couldn't possibly open up to another person like this again, not for as long as he lives. 

 

"I'm sorry." He whispers, knowing Lance can't hear him. 

 

But Lance is staring at his lips and then they are connected, his hands gripping Keith's hips tight like a vise. Keith brings his hands to back of Lance's neck, pulling slightly at the soft hair there, wishing he could run his fingers through it forever. 

 

Their lips tangle and Lance moans, soft and vulnerable, the rare display enough to snatch away whatever breath was left in Keith's lungs.

 

Lance breaks away first and pulls Keith with him again, around the fire and away from the crowd. He strides past the drums and the men selling steaming ale. Keith doesn't question him, knowing from his months spent aboard the Black Flag that questioning the captain is always rather pointless. 

 

The man is as sure of himself as the tide is eternal. 

 

They break free of the buildings after a while, their breaths leaving them in harsh pants, fingers freezing from the forgotten gloves pushed deep within their pockets. Rolling hills surround the city and Keith can finally see the distant mountains, gigantic risen land that both intimidate and amaze him. 

 

Lance turns to Keith as they arrive atop a hill, the wind so frigid Keith feels as if it were slicing the skin on his face to pieces. 

 

His eyes water as Lance huffs a breath, "I know it's a little cold-"

 

"A  _little?"_ Keith asks incredulously, hearing his own voice shake. 

 

The snow has stopped falling but the ground beneath their boots is giving way to their weight and Keith prays he won't fall. 

 

Lance chuckles, reaching into Keith's pocket to snatch his gloves up.

 

He grabs Keith's hands and slides them on with care, "There's no other place to be alone in this city during a festival. You think you can take a moment in some dark building? There will be someone trying to barge in before you know it." He pulls his own gloves out now, quickly sliding them on before reconnecting their hands, rubbing their palms  together one atop the other. 

 

"We could have gone to the ship!" Keith says, shaking his head. 

 

Lance lets out a short laugh, "Don't tell me things I should have thought of myself." He teases, resting his forehead against Keith's own. 

 

They grow quiet as the wind whips around them, the light of the city barely reaching them from their frozen little haven. 

 

Lance slides his hands into Keith's coat, "You're so warm."

 

"What?" Keith asks, because he feels as though he could turn into the damned snow himself at this point. 

 

That won't stop him from staying here, though. As long as Lance wants him on this hill, he plans to keep his feet planted, to brace himself against the chill at the back of his neck. 

 

Lance presses their lips together with a hum, "You feel feverish against me."

 

Keith opens his mouth to argue but instead feels a pulse shoot along his spin, the force of it making him gasp. He wavers on his feet and Lance holds onto him, concern in his voice as he asks Keith if he's okay. 

 

The wind has gone silent in his ears as he tries to take in large gulps of air, hearing Lance as if he were yards away and not standing flush against him. Lance brings his hands to Keith's face, trying to meet his eyes. But Keith can't see anything, save for a flicker of light behind his eyelids- like a star beginning it's implosion. 

 

And then his thrust back, everything coming to life in an instant. Lance is holding him close, his voice halting before Keith can make out what he'd been saying. 

 

Keith turns slowly toward the city and the music but his eyes are instantly drawn to the huge masses entering the sky beyond, like phantom wraiths from a darker world. 

 

"What is that?" He whispers, trying to stand straighter, to push Lance away. 

 

He looks at the flying beasts and back toward the city; to the hundreds gathered in the center, oblivious to everything but the celebration of life. 

 

 _"No."_ He hears Lance whisper, horrified fear lacing his voice, "This can't be right-"

 

Keith feels his chest burn as the shadows grain ground and then he is running down the hill, skidding against the snow and ice. He can hear Lance shout behind him but he can't see if he's following, his focus trained solely on getting to the people. 

 

But he's too late as the first stream of fire finds the buildings on the outskirts of the city, one beast flying ahead at an alarmingly fast rate. Lance finally catches up to Keith, slamming into his back until they're both trying to catch their footing. 

 

"I thought they were dead!" Keith shouts, leading the way back into the city. 

 

He thinks of Hunk and Allura, of the crew and the families and the children. 

 

Lance doesn't answer, his shock seemingly forcing him to silence. 

 

They make it to the city square quicker than when they'd left it, pushing through the chaos that has erupted. Lance is trying to shout at the crowd, telling them to run to the hills and the dense forest beyond. People shout to others, some spreading the message until they're stampeding past Keith. 

 

He tries to keep his eyes on Lance, watching as he shouts orders at those who stop to listen. Keith recognizes a few of them, the telltale sea-weathered skin and swords resting on their hips. 

 

And then he is being bombarded, pushed until his back finds the ground of an alley. He curses as he hurries to his feet but it's apparent that he's trapped, the horde of people too thick and fast for him to get through. 

 

 _"Lance!"_ He shouts, wishing his voice could carry. 

 

He has to wait longer than he'd hoped. The last few stragglers stumbles past and he finally bursts free, anger boiling inside of him at his own foolishness. Lane is gone with the crowd, no doubt searching for Keith. 

 

But he's been left behind, the flames of the bonfire still burning bright in front of him. He turns to run, his stomach fighting against the nausea building as a piercing roar fills the night sky. It's much different than the sea serpent, deeper and bluntly powerful, the sound making his bones ache as he moves to cover his ears. 

 

But against the sound of the beast is another, higher pitched noise. He glances to his left and immediately jumps to action, pulling the small child away from an overturned cart. Her dress is ripped and her hand is bloody, as if she'd fallen against the wave of the crowd. 

 

Keith brings her to him, trying to hush her sobbing. 

 

"It'll be okay." He whispers, trying to stop the shaking of his own fingers, "I won't let anything happen to you. But you have to be brave."

 

The little girl clutches onto his shoulders, her thin red hair brushing against his cheek as he whispers urgently, "What's your name?"

 

She shakes her head violently and pushes it against his throat.

 

"I'm Keith." He tries again, "I'm going to help you but I need your name-"

 

Another roar makes them both jump and the girl screams, until it morphs into a sobbed word: _Ravena._

 

He hears more pained screams from the outskirts of the city where the fire rages on, the light turning the sky a strange burnt orange; a deep blood red. 

 

"You have to run behind me until you reach the big hills. You can't stop until you see your people!" Keith tries to pry her away, panic making his voice harsher than he wishes, "Can you do that, Ravena? Can you be brave for me?" 

 

She shakes her head but still has trouble letting go, her cries growing at the loss of Keith's arms. 

 

"I'll try to go with you but if something happens to me, you can't stop, okay?" He picks her up and cradles her close, trying to break into a run. 

 

The deafening roar rises again, only this time Keith hears it right at his back. The flames from the bonfire flicker from the force of wind settling upon them, the deep  _whump whump_ of wings bruising within his ears. 

 

Keith lets out a curse and sets the girl down, pushing her roughly away, "You have to run!" He shouts, knowing suddenly that he can't follow. 

 

Not when the beast could easily kill them both. The girl looks at him with tear filled eyes, small hand reaching forward, before she finally seems to understand. She turns and takes off, her light feet making her faster than Keith would have been if he'd tried holding her. 

 

He watches her go with a frozen heart, the grumbling behind him like a predatory growl of a desert cat. Only deeper, louder; full of heat and the stench of death. 

 

He moves slowly, his fingers finding the hilt of his sword with ease. The rubies glow against the remaining firelight as he slides it free. He turns slowly, seeing the buildings now destroyed beneath the clawed feet and huge leathery wings of the dragon. 

 

He holds his sword low, until the tip is resting against the ground, feeling another pulse inside of his chest. It stings, sharp and true, as his veins begin to shine- as he shifts his feet, trying to find something calm to hold against the fear in his heart. 

 

The bast starts to walk forward, each stop making the ground shake and Keith's knees weak. It crushes the bonfire beneath it's claws, the red of it's scales thick and large, horns sharp from where they rest on either side of it's head. Yellow reptilian eyes stare at Keith as it lowers it's neck, steam escaping from large nostrils. 

 

Keith grips his sword tighter in his hand, knowing that in just a few moments, he'll be burnt to a crisp. 

 

He wills himself not to mourn his own passing. 

 

Instead, he focuses on the voice of his brother- the flash of blue eyes and a gentle touch while soaring within the clouds. 

 

And with a sneer, he raises his sword. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the worst things about writing: hand cramps 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos!!!!! <3333 I really, really appreciate it!


	10. Chapter 10

 

When Keith was ten years old he found a desert hawk with a broken wing. 

 

The animal was of the deadliest species. They prowled the skies and stalked the land in time with the huge desert cats, talons sharp enough to rip through a chest and pull a spine clean. Their predatory nature made people despise them without a second thought. 

 

The bird he found was silver and seemingly fragile from where it lay on a thorny bush. A spike protruded from it's shining wing and deep red had been slowly staining the ground beneath it, one drop at a time. Keith was frozen, his eyes wide, pupils blown. 

 

He knew to stay very still, to listen for the wings of it's mother or the crunch of rock and sand around him as it stalked toward him. But even at such a young age, and despite how hard his eyes had become while living in such a place, his heart had always remained rather soft. 

 

He moved slowly, his small feet bare against the stinging sand since he'd been using them to throw at the sky; boredom making his chest feel too tight. The creature squawked and squirmed, it's beady eyes watching with a strange sort of intelligence. 

 

When he finally freed the animal and held it close, he thought then that he would never want it to leave him. He imagined it as his lifelong pet, his friend to have during sandstorms and a companion to help scare away those that wanted to hurt him for no reason other than the fact that they could. 

 

He named it Lemon because of it's small yellow irises. They reminded him of the fruit his brother would bring back every few weeks from the vendor by the water well, trading wagon stocked full of foreign things. 

 

The bird only stayed long enough to be able to fly again. 

 

One day, Keith left to collect fresh cloth from the line and when he'd returned, Lemon was gone. He checked the floor and the window ledge, the plant that had long since died in the corner, practically everywhere. 

 

But not even a single velvety feather was left behind. 

 

He supposes that was his first lesson in letting go. 

 

 

☼

 

 

The same knowing look he'd found in the bird seems to be reflected in the eyes of the huge beast now sending a blaze of heat toward his hidden body. Keith can feel each second pass as sweat drips from his hairline and beneath his clothes. Grunting, he feels the foundation of the building behind him start to give way with a huge puff of ember and smoke. Soot leaves dark streaks on his face and it stings his eyes, but he can't risk rubbing it away. 

 

"Is that all you've got?!" He screams as the stream of fire dies down. 

 

And then he is rolling once again, remembering the rules of survival from the desert. 

 

His brothers voice is achingly familiar in his mind:  _Keep your body moving when there is no other way out but try to wear your opponent out first. Be careful to keep your steps light, don't make unnecessary assaults-_

 

The dragon makes a deep rumbling sound from within it's throat and Keith now knows he has only a few minutes until the beast is ready to release another wave of fire. 

 

He runs to the right of the dragon, eyeing a large fallen crate for his landing. He jumps and catches his balance quickly only to jump and roll once again. His sword scrapes the ground as the dragon opens it's mouth, a thick stream of fire following close behind his steps. 

 

Keith's own heat is blazing, making each wooden surface he touches catch with flame. He makes his way beside the dragon, hoping the tight space will keep it at bay and not end up squishing him against broken wood and fallen beams. 

 

He wants to shout in triumph as he finally finds himself near the tail, hoping his shoes are not too slick with melted snow and mud so that he can find purchase on the shining scales.

 

He's almost there, only a breath away, when the other dragon makes it's dreaded appearance. It roars and begins it's descent, the hulking mass of midnight scales reflecting flames, sending bursts of light against the city smoldering and burning around them. Keith glances up, watching as the wings cover the stars and the moon, and he finally notices another dark figure sitting just atop the beginning of the beasts neck. 

 

And then he is being thrown back, the tail he so desperately wished to clamber upon tearing into him with enough force to make him scream. It echoes as he's whipped around, feeling bits of wood hit his back until he's once again facing the dragon's steaming snout. 

 

He slams onto the ground and his sword flies away from him but there's no time to get it back. He can only focus on his loss of breath and the sudden frigid col that washes over his body, like all of his heat has been sealed shut inside of him.

 

He almost doesn't notice the other dragon as it lands, his panicked thoughts sending the world around him to static, even while the air grows strong with the smell of iron and sulfur. The shadowed figure lands on the ground in a poof of snow and mud, black cloak billowing like a dark cloud behind them. 

 

Keith tries to blink away the spots of white shooting behind his eyelids. 

 

 _Move!_ He thinks, urging his lungs to open so that he can breathe. 

 

Metal is suddenly pressed to his throat and he tries to focus on the sword, letting his eyes travel along the dark obsidian blade until he can see the face beneath the hood. 

 

His lungs slowly open as the seconds pass and he tries to suck in gulps of air, all the while wondering why he isn't dead yet. The sword doesn't penetrate his flesh but it remains on the hollow of his throat, creating a sharp dent. 

 

"What-" He rasps, feeling his fingers twitch, "What do you want?" 

 

The hooded figure doesn't answer. They tilt their head just enough to let Keith know that he's being watched, that he's being  _studied._ He sees the leather of the man's gloves and the spikes that line the knuckles, similar to those lining the spine's of the dragon's behind him. Keith sneers and tries to lift his head, feeling the tip of the sword press deeper. 

 

Then it's moving, hovering over his collarbone before traveling to his heart and he wonders, distantly, if it will hurt. 

 

But the only thing he feels is the swinging of his medallion as the blade lifts the chain. 

 

It hovers and glints, a strong flash appearing for a single second. 

 

"Where did you get this?" The person asks, voice vicious and laced with something akin to shock. 

 

Keith pauses, wishing the shadow of the man's hood would lift so that he could put a face to the horror surrounding them. 

 

Like hell he's going to tell this guy anything. 

 

He opens his mouth to taunt but the man is suddenly gone, his body pushed back toward his two beasts that rear up from the attack. A bright blue, incredibly powerful stream of energy pushes against the man and it's just enough time for Keith to pick himself up from the ground. 

 

He sucks in huge gulps of air as he rises, wavering on his feet. 

 

His sword is closer than he thought and he wastes no time picking it up, intent on charging at the hooded man, all thoughts of small talk and questions thrown to the slush beneath their feet. He doesn't care to see what caused to the blue energy. The dragons are riled but make no move to burn or destroy, instead following the instruction of the man's outstretched arm. 

 

He huffs and tightens his grip on the dark sword in his other hand, "You don't want to fight me."

 

Keith finally wipes ash out of his eyes and shakes his head, "You don't know me."

 

Then the man sprints, bringing his sword around to make what could be a first and final blow. 

 

"Keith!" 

 

Their swords collide and his arms sting instantly. He strains as the obsidian blade creates a deep chip in his own but he doesn't let up, even as his feet are pushed back an inch by the force of it. They break away at the same time and Keith takes a few steps back, watching as the man rolls his neck, loosening it up. 

 

 _"Keith!"_ This time he actually hears the panicked shout behind him, but he doesn't risk taking his eyes off of the rider. 

 

Any wrong move and he'll be taken down in an instant. He should have known Lance would make his way back but he doesn't want him to get any closer, so he finds himself flying forward to keep the man's attention solely on himself. 

 

Only the man doesn't charge back. 

 

In an instant, he is beside Keith, the hint of a sharp jawline illuminated for only a moment. As if time had slowed to give Keith a peek, urging him to do _something_ \- and then the man is surging past him with inhumane speed. Like shadow and smoke; light as air. 

 

Keith turns in horror, watching as the man hurtles toward Lance. 

 

"No!" Keith screams. 

 

But Lance is quick and he jumps to safety just as the man would have crashed into him. The overturned barrel wobbles beneath his weight but Lance finds his balance with a flashing smirk. Keith recognizes it; the way it looks excited and bloodthirsty all at once. 

 

"We've been looking for you,  _pirate."_ The man growls. 

 

"Are you trying to make me feel special?" Lance mocks, his voice pitched in a way that would have made Keith chuckle if he weren't shaking in anger. 

 

In fear. 

 

The man straightens, "The Emperor requires your retrieval." 

 

Lance laughs and Keith knows, just from the shift of his eyes, that he's nervous. 

 

But the rider doesn't know that. 

 

He studies Lance in the same manner he'd studied Keith, the only movement being the bottom of his cloak as it brushes against the ground. 

 

"You can't kill me. I know that he wants me alive. He doesn't want a simple death, does he? He wants a _show."_ Lance says, fingers playing with the hilt of his own sword still sheathed at his hip. 

 

He glances at the dragons but Keith doesn't take his eyes off of him, looking for any opening to get the man's attention back. 

 

He shuffles closer. 

 

"You're lucky." The man makes a sound close to a scoff, "You won't meet the Emperor today, pirate. I believe I've found something much more... _precious_ to him." 

 

Before either of them can reply, the man has turned on Keith and is grabbing for his neck, fingers searching for the chain. He almost finds purchase and Keith's chest constricts as the weight of the medallion momentarily lifts from his throat. 

 

But it soon falls back to its resting place as the rider becomes distracted by the sudden whirring and humming echoing around them. Keith moves quickly, running to Lance's side to pull him away from the barrel and into the open alley at his back. 

 

"I don't know who you are!" Hunk shouts, his strong burly arms holding up something akin to the pistols used by most pirates. Only this one is much, much larger. "But you have no idea who you're messing with!" 

 

The man glancing around, his shrouded gaze falling on each of them before he starts to back away. 

 

Hunk shakes his head and lifts the weapon higher, "Oh no you don't!" 

 

The dragon's rear up and spread their massive wings, knocking into buildings, sending them crumbling. But they don't let loose their fire; not while their rider is still on the ground. Hunk flinches but doesn't hesitate to pull the trigger. 

 

Keith lifts his arm to shield his eyes as the vibrant blue light grows inside of the barrel. It releases with a boom and the sizzling stream slams into the man, making him fly backward toward his beasts. He hits the ground and Lance immediately pushes Keith to run toward Hunk. 

 

It takes less time than Keith thought it would for the man to recover. His cloak has fallen away from his face and he slowly stands, hand holding his abdomen, drops of red falling to the ground below. 

 

A huge chunk of his armor had been scourged away to reveal a metallic arm. 

 

Keith flinches at the familiar face, bile rising in his throat at the sight of slanted eyes and the way his sneer mocks the ghost of his smile. 

 

He rips away from Lance, his disbelief muting the shouts and movement around him. The ground stains red, more and more, an endless stream. 

 

But it's when his eyes, once so similar to his own, shoot to his that Keith finally notices the yellow tint that has taken over almost every inch. 

 

Hunk is recharging his gun, the sound loud against the wind. Arms wrap around Keith's abdomen and try to tug him back, the voice at his ear distant as Shiro tears his eyes away from Keith. He stumbles back to the midnight beast and he heaves his wounded body up and up, until he can settle on the saddle latched around it's meaty neck. 

 

Deep purple electricity runs inside of the dragon's horns and spikes, making Shiro's face illuminate and fall to shadow all at once. 

 

"Wait!" Keith screams, not caring that the other beast has already taken off, that it could easily strike them down with hellfire at any moment, "No!" 

 

Shiro watches for only a moment long and then he is rising, wavering in his seat, the wind pushing Keith back into Lance's chest. 

 

Hunk releases another stream of energy and this time it twists and slices through the air, clipping the dragon's leg. The beast screeches as it climbs into the sky and Shiro whistles, eyes flashing. 

 

Keith blinks away his shock quickly enough to recognize the steam now pouring from the beast's nostrils, the tendrils leaking from it's opening mouth. 

 

"Run! Find cover!" Keith screams, grabbing Lance's arm and leading them a distant crumbling building. 

 

He clutches onto Lance and rolls them to try to cover him as the fire erupts, much brighter and hotter than before. There is a piercing crackle of noise that lights the area in purple and white, popping at buildings and carts and the ground. He winces at the feel of electricity making his hair stand on end. 

 

Wood starts to fall, bits of ledges and stairs giving way to ash. It seems to last forever and Keith won't move, won't risk Lance getting zapped, the memory of lightning aboard the Flag playing in his mind on repeat-

 

And then Hunk is there, pushing his weapon behind his back, his strong arms pulling both of them from rubble. Keith spots a bloody, jagged line on Hunk's face, but none of them have time for worried comfort. 

 

Hunk pushes them forward and they run, coughing at the smoke toiling all around them. 

 

"We have to go!" Lance shouts as Keith hesitates, just by a step. 

 

Keith screams then, a sound that rips from him in desperation, broken enough to mimic the shattering in his chest. 

 

" _Shiro!"_ His voice breaks but it doesn't carry, the great beating of wings drowning out any hope he has of getting his brother to return to him. 

 

Lance laces their fingers and _pulls_ , forcing Keith to move, to leave it behind. They reach the hills just as another cracking boom erupts behind them and Keith turns, just once, to see. 

 

Ilarath is in flames. 

 

Taken over by a scourge of fire and popping electricity, the entire city is engulfed. Lance turns with a shaky breath and they watch as the shadowed dragon's fly further and further away, until their forms have disappeared back over the mountains. 

 

"We have to go." Lance's soft voice brushes against Keith's shock. 

 

He helps Keith sheath his sword and tries to meet his eyes, but Keith can't focus on anything other than the crunch of the snow as they follow Hunk to the hills and the dark forest beyond. 

 

☼

 

The survivors of the attack huddle in a huge mass between the spacious tree trunks, their hands and lips shivering from the cold. Keith moves mindlessly through them, ignoring their thanks and praise, glad that he helped force the creature's retreat. 

 

He shrugs away from Lance, brushes off Allura's worried fluttering hands. Finding a lone trunk takes time and when he deems it far enough away, he sits. He feels a swell of disbelief and such deep sadness sweep over him that he fears he'll simply fall here and never rise again. 

 

Because that wasn't his brother. 

 

It couldn't have been. 

 

How long has it been since he saw him last? How was he to know that his search would lead straight to him, only to have him ripped away again?

 

Fires are lit throughout the forest, the townspeople somehow finding wood dry enough to burn. Keith lets his gaze fall on one of the flames, listening numbly as people talk and cry, as someone tries to play a whistling silver instrument to comfort the children. The music travels between the fires and through the trees, until most people are quiet enough to listen, their shock lessening just enough to be lulled into a clearer mind and restless sleep. 

 

Keith feels the tips of his fingers beginning to burn form the cold and he brings them to his mouth, letting his breath warm them. He finds himself searching for Lance among the crowd, letting his gaze pass over tear stained faces, burnt flesh, the waving of the low hung branches trying to resist the wind. 

 

Lance, in the end, finds him first. 

 

He takes a seat beside Keith, wincing as the cold seeps through his clothes, "We're going to get sick." He says. 

 

Keith grunts but leans into Lance all the same, "I can't feel it."

 

"You're in shock." Lance says as he gathers his coat tighter around him, "We all are."

 

"He said-" Keith feels sick, unable to even mutter his brother's name, "that the Emperor has been searching for you-"

 

"Pirate's are a threat to him." Lance sighs, "I've been a thorn in his side since I was young. Imagine, going about your evil duty, when suddenly your strongest port had been bombarded by a ship that could fly. Crates cast to the sea, soldiers bleeding in the streets, all the rum gone." 

 

He laughs, a quiet, somber sound. 

 

Keith can tell that there's more. That there's something else, some other reason the Emperor wants Lance; wants to capture him and kill him. 

 

But he doesn't ask.

 

They don't talk much as the night wears on and Lance doesn't try to get answers from Keith either. 

 

And for that, Keith is thankful. 

 

Instead, Lance uses the sleeve of his coat to wipe at the ash and soot on Keith's cheeks, under his eyes, along his nose. 

 

Groups of people make their way to and from the city in groups, bringing back what scraps of wool and leathers and singed cloth they can find before dispersing them through the crowd. Keith looks up to the swaying branches of the tall trees, noticing the way the sky has become a tainted orange, an unnatural wave of color in the depth of night. 

 

The city will continue to burn and smolder, until newly fallen snow finally gives it relief. 

 

"Hello." 

 

Keith's head snaps up at the soft, tiny voice that interrupts his thoughts. Ravena, the girl from the city, holds a thick layer of material in her small hands. 

 

"Hi." Keith's voice breaks but he shifts away from Lance, wondering if he should help her deliver the wool's and leathers. 

 

Instead, she lets them plop to the snow. And then she is slamming into Keith, wrapping her arms around his neck, hair sticky and damp against his chin. Something in him crumbles and he lets out a shuddering breath, ignoring the quiet way in which Lance stands and departs. 

 

"My mommy is gone." Ravena whispers, bottom lip trembling, "But I found my Pa. He's hurt real bad."

 

"I-I'm sorry." Keith gulps. 

 

She pulls away and stares at him before reaching out a hand, wiping at the trail of wet beneath his eye, "Before he had to go to sleep, he said you helped me be brave. Because you're brave." She bops him on the nose, "And good."

 

Keith feels his chest clench as she points toward the material at his feet and wanders away. 

 

And then Lance is back, as if he'd waited just out of range, to give Keith privacy.

 

Keith breathes a sigh of relief at the popping of wood and starting of a fire, the warmth flowing into him as he moves to huddle beside Lance, their blankets warmer than he thought possible. 

 

"Won't these get wet too?" Keith asks, placing two more pieces of wood into the flames. 

 

It flares and he breathes it in, trying to erase the smells of iron and sulfur and burnt flesh. Lance lays back and watches the sky, the hint of stars between flowing smoke, before lifting the thick blanket. Keith feels the aches and pains in his body as he joins him, interlacing their legs as if it were their anchor to each other. He breathes deeply and closes his eyes, the flutter of his eyelashes brushing against Lance's throat. 

 

"As long as the blanket and the leather is facing the ground, we'll be okay." Lance whispers.

 

And, for the moment, they are. 

 

☼

 

 

 

Keith wakes just before the rise of the sun. He sees streaks of pale blue and pink breaking through the treetops, their spindly arms reaching forever toward the sky. Smoke still rises from the city but it's thinned, most still contained just above the destruction. 

 

Keith raises his hand and lets the branches fall between his fingers, watching as his breath travels to meet them. The camp is mostly silent when he sits up and looks around at those sleeping. 

 

He spots Allura and Hunk close by, breathing deep and even and slow. A huge bandage is wrapped around Hunk's face and it sends a relieved weight from Keith's shoulders, knowing his friend found a way to keep the wound free of infection and frost bite. 

 

Lance turns in his sleep and Keith almost wakes him; though for what, exactly, he isn't sure. 

 

To run?

 

To return to the ocean? Forget any of this had happened?

 

Instead, he grimaces and stands, letting the blankets fall gently onto Lance before he starts stalking his way through the snow. He shoves his hands into the deep pockets of his coat and winds his way through the trees, noticing just how large they really are. 

 

Stopping, he rests a hand on one of the trunks and watches as the bark pulses with a deep umber glow. He lets out a breath and runs his hand along the smooth wood, watching in fascination as the glow follows the trail of his fingers like the brush of paint on parchment. The higher he goes, the lighter the color becomes. 

 

He turns to quickly find his way back to camp, to grab Lance's hand and lead him to the tree, but he stops in his tracks. 

 

 _There were never such strange creatures in the desert._ He thinks, reaching out to touch the hovering luminescent blue insect fluttering around him. 

 

The wings are small but bright, and flickering like the beating heart of starlight. More begin to fly around him, their soft flutters sometimes brushing by his ears as he turns to watch their gentle rise and fall. For just a moment, he isn't thinking of the burning city or the ache in his chest or the harsh line of Shiro's sneer. 

 

Keith lets the insects land and fly away as the please for what must be hours, until the sounds of newly awoken voices carry to him on the wind. 

 

Until the sun begins to cast glittering diamonds, like the crest of waves, onto the snow.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any sentences in another language can be found translated in the end notes!

 

 

☼

 

 

Keith had never seen a wolf aside from fading illustrations.

 

He always assumed they were similar to the wild hounds of the desert, their teeth razor sharp and their shoulders hunched from days without food. He could see them now in his mind, their distant forms prowling the top of the dunes like reapers waiting to attack. But he also remembers the dark sketches from charcoal onto parchment that he'd glanced at as a child. Of trees he'd never seen and fur thick and lush.

 

 _They'll tear you to shreds._ The travelling merchant had whispered to the gathered children, _They are made of ice and death._

  
Only the desert hounds had never howled like this.

  
What begins as one in the distance turns to several in all directions, closer and closer, until Keith and several others are holding their weapons close in fear of an attack. The slow days passed with scarce food and shivering fingers, whispers grew to frantic voices, people choosing to ignore the hushes and warnings to keep quiet; to keep the animals away with silence. Fires were built stronger to ward them with light, men and women taking up branches when all other swords had come to use.

  
But now, as the howls finally end their incessant calls, Keith is shocked to find that the animals aren't what he expected at all.

They arrive with the setting sun.

  
The large wolfish creatures are covered in thick fur ranging from white as pure as the snow, to the same murky green material of the men and women riding atop them. Adorned in leathers of dark green and brown, they tower over the refuge, helmets horned and shadowed.

  
As Lance and Keith push through the crowd, their swords already held to front, he realizes the animals have other strange attributes as well. Silky feathers align their faces and neck before disappearing into thick fur. Silver and golden chains, loosely placed but sturdy enough to hold weapons of varying sizes, fall from the saddles and wrap around their bodies in intricate swirls. Some glitter from the filtered evening sun, making pinpoints of light shift and bounce against the trunks of the trees.

 

"Who're you?" Lance asks, shifting easily from the man that had been making the children laugh with his antics, to the fearless pirate that Keith knew could wrestle hurricanes.

  
He tenses, eyeing the rider that shifts forward, their creature's feathers riling up near the top of the head.

 

The rider studies them and the skin visible along their throat seems to change with a dark green swirl, "I am Acantha. We ride from the mountain range."

 

People shift and gasp around them and Keith raises an eyebrow, watching as Lance tightens the sword on his grip, "What do you want?"

 

"We are Riders from the Walled City of Virin. We've been sent to help as is custom to our alliance with Ilarath." The Rider says, finally taking the helmet from her face. Long black hair picks up from the tough leather of her chest as a strong gust of wind flows between them. Her eyes are almond shaped and dark, swipes of black coal marks resting on the lids, "We saw the smoke and heard screams, distant but full of pain."

  
"Who sent you?" Keith asks, stepping forward.

  
Her eyes snap to him. She clicks her tongue and the animal lowers slightly, letting her jump from her perch. She lifts a hand to ruffle the fur at the creatures neck. It follows closely behind, large eyes cautious and protective. 

  
She steps up to Keith and holds out a piece of paper, "If you were from this region you would already know of us."

  
He takes the parchment and opens it quickly, glancing at the seal of a great tree, the trunk seemingly carved into a sharp point; like a narrowed crystal.

 

"Well, we _aren't_ from here. So maybe you can understand why we're being careful." He says, letting the paper roll shut.

 

She studies him again before taking it back, suspicion rising on her face. Closer now, Keith can see just how large the bow on her back really is, the curve of the arch and the dangerously sharp silver tips rising high above her head.

 

"They saved us!" Someone suddenly shouts, voice breaking through the tense silence that had begun to settle.

  
Others chime in, agreeing, waves of voices rising against their backs.

 

Acantha looks to Lance, her own sharp brow rising, " _Pirates?_ " She shuffles closer, eyes catching sight of his sword and the tattoo on his neck, "And the captain of the Black Flag, no less."

 

"How do you know who I am?" Lance asks.

 

She shrugs, the corner of her lips forming a deep frown before she hops back onto her creature and places the helmet back upon her head.

 

"Even here, we know of your ventures. Of your kind." She pulls at the reigns and the creature shuffles a few steps back, the rest of the riders following suit. "We are to lead you to our home!" She calls out, now addressing the entire crowd, "You will find adequate shelter and food! If you choose to stay behind, you will surely perish."

 

People surge around Keith and Lance, no questions asked as they begin to pack up what few belongings they have. Acantha glances at Lance as if she were weighing her options, distrust flashing like the metal horns arching from her head.

 

"You are welcome too. We may need the extra protection." And with that she pulls sharp on the reigns, turning her creature around, " _Vasit._ " 

  
The flick of its long feathered tail brushes against the snow.

 

The crowd begins to move, following Acantha as the rest of the Riders spread out, some running forward to scout. Keith is silent, looking back as if he could see through the trees and the destroyed city- all the way to the opposite mountains.

 

To his brother.

 

Lance walks to his side, the crunch of the snow beneath his boots making Keith snap out of his urge to take off. To run back. He notices the crew of the Black Flag close by, eyes following the giant wolf-like beasts as they lead people away. Hunk and Allura are finishing up the cleaning of their pistols, glancing every so often to Lance for direction.

 

Keith feels his chest rip wide open once again, realization plowing into him like an avalanche, "Where will you go now?"

 

Lance makes a confused noise, "What do you mean?"

 

"I _mean_ ," Keith tries to soften his tone, to ease the growing panic by focusing on the darkening snow, "where will you go once you're back on the ship?"

 

It's quiet as Lance glances at his crew and the few stragglers hurrying to catch up to the strange Rider's, "The water will always be there."

 

Keith's head snaps up, "What?"

 

Little flakes of snow begin to fall from the clouds as Lance lets out a laugh, throwing his arm around Keith's shoulders as they turn to face the retreating crowd, "I can always return to the ocean, Keith." He says, "But I can't know if _you_ will return to me. Seems things are about to change, you know? Like somethin' dark is gonna hit us hard."

 

Keith lets out a breath and hears the crew shuffle behind them.

 

Lance shifts to grab at Keith's coat, waiting for an indication that it's okay before pulling him against his lips. It's as refreshing as rain and he lets it wash through his body, from his chapped lips to each scorched feeling inside. It's renewal and promise and Keith grasps onto it like hope.

 

Lance pulls away from Keith's hands as his cloak rushes up in the wind, billowing out behind him. "Besides, if we're fated to join this looming war, I won't let you take all the glory!"

 

Then he's turning back to his crew, instructing those who wish to leave to return and port in a neighboring city; to wait for word from him. Keith rolls his eyes but allows himself to smile for the first time in days, a secret little thing that he hides inside the collar of his coat.

 

 

☼

 

Keith knows the Riders had been watching them for several days before they'd decided to make their presence known. Part of him bristles at the thought, at their willingness to watch them sit in the freezing forest with little to no food and drink. He wonders how much longer they'll have to trek now, the night having already closed in on them, dark and alive as a breathing thing. Hooting birds call out around them, the brush of frigid leaves creating a chilling mockery of a warm coastline.

  
They walk until the children are in need of being held, some allowed to ride atop the beasts while strapped tight to the saddles. They walk until the elders need helping arms, the heavier blankets left to the snow, slowly becoming covered the further the crowd treks.

 

They walk and walk and walk, until _finally_ , the trees begin to thin.

 

Keith follows closely behind Acantha as the path becomes steeper and their first sighting of the great wall slowly comes to focus. Keith, along with everyone else, lets his neck crane to see the towering statues that are embedded into the stone. They're tall enough to be partially shrouded by the clouds, their flowing cloaks covered in green and black moss. There is one every few feet, the same armor that covers Acantha and her Riders peaking from beneath the crafted cloaks. Many of them, those that Keith can actually see from his position, hold bows and spears; sentries, ancient and powerful.

 

Acantha whistles and the creatures start a low howl, haunting sounds that bounce off of the wall and back again. There is a deep groaning noise, one that reminds Keith of the Flag during a storm, and then the stone begins to shift. It rises slowly and a burst of air hits them, making the children shout, Keith's own hair pushed back from his neck and face. Regardless, when Acantha enters the tunnel, they obediently follow. They take several steps down, until the sound of the forest is muted and the entire area turns to the dark.

  
The tunnel is damp and earthy, their footsteps shuffling as green stones come to life, letting off gentle illumination to guide their path.

 

Before they make it to the exit of the tunnel beneath the wall, smells begin to waft to Keith. He sniffs and places the scent of grass and flora, of summertime and warmth. And finally, just when he's opening his mouth to question Acantha, the range opens up before them.

 

The land is impossibly large; as if an entire country were expanded within the mountain itself.

 

"How?" He asks, desperate to breathe it in.

 

Acantha lifts a finger to point past the rolling fields of wheat they now stalk through and further to the hundreds of stone houses that litter the widespread plains. Four larger buildings rest in a square closer to the center of the city, towering masses made from the same stone as the wall protecting them.

 

In the far distance, near the hazy wall opposite themselves, rests the swell of a mighty forest. Though they'd just left the forest outside, Keith can tell that this one differs. It contrasts in differing shades of green, from light to dark and back again, shifting against huge pulsing blue and green crystals that sprout from the ground around them. And just before it, so far that Keith has to narrow his eyes to try to focus on it, a strange structure rests. 

 

Some crystals cluster together while others stick out of the ground independently, the sharp tips pointing toward the sky. They cast the houses and fields in a soft glow, moving like the underside of waves. But what catches Keith's attention the most, and that of Lance as well, is the tree that rises from the middle of the forest. It's taller than the rest but much slimmer, with bright leaves the color of spring fruits; honeydew and apricot and strawberry.

 

Even from this impressive distance it can be spotted quickly by the pale silver trunk, the colors flowing inside of it similar to the insects that had visited Keith several mornings ago. Every so often there would be a release of light like the quick rise of embers before they fall gently to meld into the lower treetops. It reminds him of dolphins in the ocean and the luminescence that made their slippery bodies shine as they rose and spun from the water, creating a glow that could rival the moon.

 

Winter doesn't seem to touch this place, as if a barrier had been set to seal it off.

 

Hunk is busy studying one of the smaller crystals and he tugs Allura closer, urging her to touch it.

 

Acantha rips her eyes away from Allura and nods her head forward, "Come." She orders, leading them away from the rest of the crowd.

 

They travel down the sloping hills toward the city, finding purchase on hidden steps. The soft trickling of a stream blooms the further they get and Keith finds it to follow with his eyes as it slides over smooth stone. It leads toward the center of the city before rising to join a large twirling orb of water that hovers above a deeply grated well. The flow is endless and Hunk, who has finally caught up, tries to pry answers from Acantha. Allura urges him to be quiet, aware of the attention that their arrival brings from the people taking to the streets.

 

Keith notices their looks of interest, of worry, and that almost all of them are barefoot.

 

"You will find answers soon." Acantha says to Hunk, finally hopping down from her creature. She takes the helmet from her head and keeps it beneath her arm, passing the reigns off to a young boy who had appeared from the East. He smiles as she ruffles his long hair, " _Taksa frai lin staiba_."

 

Lance tugs at Keith's sleeve and touches their fingers briefly together, eyeing the beast as it stalks away. He watches it like a kid eyeing candy.

 

  
They continue toward the forest and somewhere along the way Acantha takes off her own riding boots, letting her bare feet touch stone and earth and grass. Keith glaces to his left, where Allura walks with a hand on her sword, eyes following the Rider. He chooses to ignore the strange glances they send each other, the way their gazes flit to and fro, seemingly lost as to what to say.

 

  
Instead, he simply lets a small smirk play on his lips, and continues on.

 

There is another large slope of land they must climb before they can finally see the treeline and the large stone temple resting just before it. Up close, the structure lets off little light from it's shuddered windows. It's larger than it appeared from the opposite land and the etchings on the stone are deep, seemingly made from a time long since passed.

 

Acantha waits, watching as a flicker of movement catches from inside, "It will take a moment."

 

Impatience flows through Keith quickly.

 

Whether he likes it or not, he wants nothing more than to barge inside and see who, or _what_ , it is that the Rider has led them to. A witch like the one in the desert? A creature like those that Acantha rides, only with a mind to match that of a human?

 

" _Lance?_ "

 

Keith is taken from his thoughts at the voice, eyes immediately searching for the source.

 

A small form bounds toward them from behind the temple, their skin glowing faintly with vine-like markings, seemingly stronger beneath the moon and crystal light. Pidge smiles and Hunk runs to grab her into a hug, making her face scrunch and her feet lift into the air.

 

" _This_ is where you're from?" Hunk gushes, turning his body this way and that to swing her around, "How could you keep this a secret from us?"

 

Pidge tries to scramble away but Keith notices the smile never leaves her face, regardless of the slight annoyance he also finds there.

 

When Pidge is finally free she shakes out her short hair, glancing at her feet before shrugging, "It never really came up."

 

Lance opens his mouth to say something, no doubt to pick at her before taking her into his own arms, but he never gets the chance. One moment all of them are looking to the reunion, Acantha's brows furrowed at the strange show of friendship, and the next the door to the temple is swinging wide. Candlelight flows from the doorway, the shadow of a figure blocking the rest, sending shadow to the grass.

 

 

☼

 

"We have never trusted _pirates_." The woman, Great Leader, rasps, "Honor-less thieves, no worry for the state of the world."

 

She is short but strong, her arms sinewy with muscle. Keith watches her, puzzled as whether or not she is twenty years old or two _hundred_. He shifts by the door for the fifth time within the last hour, leaning on his other foot, arms folded defensively against his chest.

 

"Then again, your kind has never cared to journey this far inland." She continues on, mumbling mostly to herself.

 

Lance glances at Keith and goes to fiddle with the empty sheath on his hip, his sword having been left outside along with the rest. Pidge had been the only other one to follow them inside, letting Acantha know that she could leave, that Allura and Hunk were free to do as they pleased.

 

If Acantha was annoyed at Allura asking to visit their beasts in the stables, the Rider never said so. Keith watched them leave with a good distance between them, the pair awkward but daringly curious all the same.

 

Now, only Lance and Keith stand before the leader of Virin, the markings on her arms moving in languid slithers. The Great Leader's are much larger than those of Pidge, covering most of her lower arms and hands, the color brighter against her dark skin. The temple itself is large, rooms diverging into more rooms, open ceilings spread randomly throughout. Stones stand with inscribed ink, the surfaces never seeming to become fully dry regardless of the crackling fires lit behind almost every pillar, their flames contained by bundles of rock.

 

"I've worked with the Captain for years." Pidge is saying, voice steady and sure, "He can be trusted. _Ni svara rinit_."

 

Great Leader hums, walking with her flowing skirt and long braided hair toward Lance, letting her wrinkled fingers poke at several large scars peaking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. She leans even closer, until Lance clenches his jaw to keep from backing away. Keith shifts again, uncomfortable.

 

Her sight is suddenly drawn to him and she narrows her eyes, moving past Lance to push through the strange vines hanging from her ceiling. They hold vials and crystals, feathers and parchment and stone. Keith stands taller as she approaches and reaches out a hand to brush away a vine that has fallen against his cheek.

 

"I've seen your face." She murmurs, sniffing and lifting his arm, pushing back his sleeve with haste, "Yes, I surely have. I can smell your blood."

 

Keith raises a brow and glances at Pidge for help.

 

She shrugs.

 

It's tense as the woman leans back, guarded eyes roaming the expanse of his face, but she says nothing more about it.

 

With a huff, she takes a seat in a large intricately carved wooden chair, "Tell me more of the winged beasts. Of the burning of Ilarath."

 

And they do, in such length that the Great Leader eventually stands to pace, making the markings pulse and writhe on her skin. She curses in their slithering tongue, words that hiss and are full of so much emotion, Keith wonders if he's ever heard a language so keen to expression. He only speaks when prompted, not wanting to return to the memories so soon; wishing instead to forget about his brother if only for the night. Lance says nothing of Keith's fight against the dragon or the name he'd shouted, instead skirting around the details as he simply describes the dragon rider.

 

"I had wished the rumors weren't true." Great Leaders says at the end, voice sullen and serious.

 

"What does it mean?" Pidge asks, fiddling with an object in her hands, "I don't think even we could survive the wrath of dragon-fire."

 

"And you won't have to." Keith speaks up, finally pushing away from his spot against the wall. He walks forward, meeting the Great Leader's stare, "I intend to stop them before they can harm anyone else."

 

Great Leader studies Keith, as if she were dissecting his mind and intentions, but she doesn't let him elaborate, "No matter how well you fight, what comes next is nothing you can do alone."

 

Lance furrows his brows, "Wait, what?"

 

"Let me think." Her words are rough and short. She waves her hand as if to shoo them away, "You are welcome here if what you tell me is true. If my apprentice truly trusts you, I shall try as well. Go find rest."

 

" _Wait_ -" Keith starts, confused.

 

Anxious to have his questions answered.

 

Pidge bumps into him as they walk to the door, motioning for him to follow. But he hesitates, trying to pull away from Pidge's strong grip.

 

Great Leader watches them leave, her hands planted amidst the papers and bowls resting on the large wooden table in the center of the room. Keith feels questions burning on the tip of his tongue and he wants nothing more than to stay planted inside, to pry the answers out of the strange woman; feeling as if she were filled to the rim with them. But Pidge pulls insistently at his sleeve and he knows he can't risk angering the Riders stationed outside of the temple.

 

He can't be that selfish to the other's, to their chance of momentary peace.

 

But Great Leader meets Keith's eyes all the same, iris's as dark and green as the forest behind her temple.

 

And then the door finally slams shut.

 

☼

 

 

Pidge speeds them through the city, pointing out places of rest for travelers and the occasional tavern for food and drink, their hands waving wildly in excitement. She calls out in certain words he could never hope to pronounce, other's calling back in equal fervor. Eventually, Keith asks about their invention from the bungalow, eager to finally see what rests inside. But Pidge says that she simply forgot about it. Left it in Branlin with the rest of her outside work; explaining that she travels far from Virin only for research purposes.

 

"I do that sometimes." She says, shrugging and ignoring Keith's pout, "Ask me to see it again again in a few years."

 

They wind up near one of the rolling hills outside of the city when she's finished, having picked up a wandering Hunk and a blushing Allura, until they're all surrounded by a particularly bright group of crystal.

 

"They're basically the life of this place. Well, of every place really. Of everyone, each animal and plant and molecule in the water." Pidge explains, kneeling beside one of the larger one's, "The Emperor has harvested almost all of them, trying to warp it for his own uses, to destroy the power they give to the people. The power to create warmth with gentle touches, to flip pages with no need to move. But Great Leader has kept ours safe, keeping deep knowledge of their origins and functions. Using them for gentle research. For protection. For conservation."

 

"But I've _seen_  powerful magic. We all have." Keith muses, glancing at Lance, before squatting to touch the smooth grass, "It hasn't vanished. There were witches in the desert and there's the life of the Black Flag and Hunk's inventions...there's _Lance_."

 

"Because he hasn't taken them all. As long as there is even one left, there is our power." Pidge tries to explain, their teeth worrying their bottom lip in thought, "The crystals used to span all over the world, you know, before the war. They were on every island and mountain peak, in the depths of caves and waste of the deserts. They've always helped us, given us gifts as if the planet were granting us the means to thrive. But what turned into a scourge for the crystal soon shifted. I know that he's hunted down _people_. Entire families, if their connection to the crystal's are strong enough. And now the planet is slowly dying, too. Whole cities are left without a hint of magic and it's spreading like a sickness. The Emperor hasn't been able to destroy all of them, sure. But he's close. _Too_ close. But that's where our research comes in, the methods we use to morph the crystal's power naturally and with respect. To find a way to duplicate them should he get his hands on the rest. "

 

"If your people are trained with knowledge of the crystals, if you're conducting experiments to _save_ them, why hasn't he targeted this place yet?" Keith asks.

 

"Oh, he's had his sights on us for years." Pidge leans back on her hands, "But my home has stood for thousands of years. Our walls and warriors have kept us safe. But now that Lance is here and believe me, the Emperor _knows_  he's here, I suspect he'll put the rest of his plans into action. It's only a matter of time."

 

"And how do you know that?" Allura speaks up, defensive and protective, "Surely one person can't make the man go absolutely mad."

 

"He's already mad." Hunk mumbles, poking at the crystal to watch the light inside deflect at his touch.

 

Lance clears his throat and glances away, "He won't do anything. It's nothing worry about."

 

Keith furrows his brows, watching as Pidge looks back to the crystal, an apologetic frown forming on her lips. As if she knows something the rest of them don't.

 

Keith steps closer to grab Lance's hand. It's warm and calloused against his palm and Lance looks to him with eyes overflowing; a flooding of the ocean reflected in the iris.

 

But Lance's smile is dim as he pulls his hand away, "Which way to the closest tavern, Pidge? I think I need to drink until I sleep."

 

Any excitement or wonder for their temporary home has been replaced with solemn exhaust. It's visible in the hunch of his shoulders, the way his gaze shifts along the ground, avoiding the rest of them in the best way he knows how.

 

They watch him walk away, his sudden departure dispelling all questions and musings. 

 

They remain still as statues until his flowing cloak has disappeared around the corner. 

 

Until the sun just begins to peak over the top of the mountains. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Vasit --> Walk.*  
> *Taksa frai lin staiba --> Take her to the stables.*  
> *Ni svara rinit --> I swear it.*
> 
> Can I just say that season 6 was literally amazing??? Personally, it's the best yet and i'm still in awe. 
> 
> P.s. Things about Lance's past will be answered in the next chapter along with, finally, some much needed rest. Things will slow down just a tad. 
> 
> (before, of course, things go really, really bad...) 
> 
> :)
> 
> Also, Acantha & Great Leader are OC's that I've come to love very much. Hopefully you all will like them too! This world is so large, it's only natural that characters have to be made to accommodate. Other canon characters will be showing up soon as well!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry for any mistakes! Enjoy :)

 

☼

 

 

 

The forest is alive.

 

More lush than any other place he's been, the ground itself seems to breathe.

 

Whenever Keith steps closer to a stream, with just the trickling of water to accompany his beating heart, the green moss always begins to shine a faint blue beneath his toes. The wind sends sparks of energy down his spine, the heat that has been otherwise dormant within his own blood has started to travel once again along his bones. Several weeks they've been here and he's yet to fully explain it; this feeling of revival.

 

_The crystals._

 

He wonders at the extent in which it makes this place thrive.

 

Not like the teeming port cities and the desert, with sparks of pure magic here and there. Instead, it is all-encompassing, ever expanding and flowing and thriving. He can only imagine what the world must have been like before all of the fighting. All of the death.

 

But he knows stronger bouts of magic remains outside of the Virin, simply because he's witnessed it as it overcomes the man he loves. Because he's seen the color that reflects in his eyes as they glow, his veins as they hum, his fingertips as they send towering tsunami's to wipe away all troubles. And even now, as he tries to sneak up on Lance, he can see the shimmer of the ancient power flowing all around him. It spills from Lance's dark skin like ink, staining and soaking into the soft moss against his back.

 

If this place makes Keith feel wholly new, stronger and more energized, he can only imagine how Lance has come to feel.

 

His eyes are closed, long lashes creating soft shadows against his cheeks. Keith wants nothing more than to brush his lips against them, to wake him.

 

Instead, he is stepping carefully and slowly through the underbrush, his bare chest feeling the first hints of early morning mist. Pidge has been teaching them, with the occasional help of Acantha, to replicate the ease of their silent footfalls. Of the survival of their people.

 

Hunters, they deem themselves. 

 

Hunk has taken to calling them Treefolk.

 

" _The forest is tranquil. Solitude. Silence._ " Keith whispers to himself, letting his fingers brush against the bark of a giant tree.

 

Lance turns his face from Keith's view and he takes the moment to lunge, sprinting lightly on the moss to win their little game.

 

"Your whispering gave you away." Lance suddenly says, making Keith falter.

 

He looses his balance for only a moment, an annoyed grimace taking place of his triumphant smirk. He's close enough to touch Lance but instead resigns to kick little pieces of moss onto his body. Lance's hand shoots out and grasps Keith's bare ankle, pulling at it with the intention to make him fall. And he does. He lands on the moss with a spin of his arms, cheeks reddening from annoyance to embarrassment in record time.

 

Lance is above him in a blink, his legs straddling Keith's hips gently.

 

Keith sighs into the kiss that follows, any ill feelings of defeat swallowed up by the curve of Lance's lips. His back is cool against the soft cushion of the moss and he feels the condensation settle on Lance as he brings his hands to run along his spine. Keith closes his eyes when he trails the kiss from his lips to his jaw, nipping at the skin before resting against his neck.

 

"Always so warm." Lance murmurs, letting the tip of his tongue taste, "Even after you've lost. Again."

 

Keith's eyes snap open and the annoyance returns full swing, enough to make him push against Lance's bare shoulder.

 

"You haven't won either." Keith reminds him, motioning for him to get off.

 

Lance complies, letting his bragging smirk spread to a full grin. 

 

Birds, little things with tiny wings and tiny feet chirp around them as the morning sun slowly begins to rise in the East. The full light is unable to reach them in their haven among the trees but they both welcome the rise in temperature.

 

Keith stands and runs his fingers through Lance's hair as he passes, enjoying the noise that leaves the captain's lips. He walks toward the flowing stream and a large slab of stone that rests just beside it, slick and cool. He climbs, his feet finding purchase against small grooves, before he stands upright.

 

This has become their small ritual: wake up before the other and find a resting rock, sneak and plan and pounce.

 

Once or twice it has gone too far, with neither of them talking for a half a day. Glares sent across rooms, lips in a pout. It continues until Allura has to remind them that they aren't children. That they have training to do in the fields.

 

And always, without fail, they reunite back to back, sweating as Hunters on their beasts throw spears and let loose arrows toward their shields. The first time a beast, a _Volivix_ , took to the air with wings spread wide, Keith had lost his breath. And the moment the Rider's jumped from their backs, spears swinging toward his head, Keith took training _very_ serious.

 

It seems, according to Pidge, that training will not end without someone shedding a bit of blood.

 

"What are you staring at?" Keith questions now, finally noticing Lance's gaze.

 

Lance smiles and walks to a small leather bag beside the water, reaching inside to gather something. Keith waits, suspicious from his perch.

 

"Come here." Lance says, motioning for Keith to sit and hang his legs from the stone's ledge.

 

He complies, leaning back on his hands, brows furrowed.

 

Lance brings his hands up to brush against Keith's left calf, fingers light as moth wings, "I thought this would look nice." He says and Keith sits up, watching as pink spreads across Lance's cheeks.

 

Never as apparent as Keith's own flush but just as endearing, the sight always making something swell within Keith's chest.

 

A dainty golden chain is placed around Keith's ankle, the color catching in the clear morning air as patches of sunlight spread against the ground. Lance latches the bracelet together and leans down, pressing his lips to the skin just above the faint glimmer of the small blue crystals; embedded elegantly into the sides. There's another tug in Keith's chest, a feeling of other-worldliness that he's even here, so far from where he began.

 

That he feels so light, as clear as morning air above the raging sea.

 

He slides from the rock, his body brushing against Lance's until his feet find solid ground. He takes Lance's lips quickly, needing no map or sign to lead him there. His fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck as they break away, breathing ragged and deep and true.

 

"Thank you." He whispers, letting their foreheads brush and their fingers lace on either side of them.

 

Lance pecks his lips again, a smile forming beautifully, before pulling Keith away from the stream and toward the bright light shining further ahead.

 

 

☼

 

"If you aren't quiet in the next two seconds," Allura whispers harshly, "I will _gut_ you."

 

The Hunter closest to Keith that had been whistling a soft tune jumps, eyes wide at the threat. Keith doesn't blame him, knowing full well that she'll keep to her word. There have been several people within the young hunting parties over the last several weeks that have spoken against Keith and the others partaking in their training.

 

 _Pirates_. They would whisper, their fear no doubt stemming from dark rumors.

 

Some of it true, Keith can admit, especially about the ferocity of the Black Flag. About the fights and death, the rising of giant waves and the sharp smell of gunpowder. But the first time a Hunter actually spat the word at him, as if it were a vile thing, he was surprised.

 

Before, he'd never thought much of the word, had kept it separate from himself without doing so intentionally.

 

But he supposes it's different now. That he is what they call him to be.

 

A pirate.

 

He expects they can see it in the way his eyes always follow Lance, the confident captain who gives orders and holds close his battle-worn sword. The sun darkened skin of many who remained with them to journey to Virin, the scars that litter their hands and necks and faces. The sea salted coats they wore and the boots scuffed from sand, made for weathering the ocean sun and monstrous storms.

 

Now, however, they wear only what is given to them. They train with foreign weapons.

 

Keith holds a spear in his hands and a bow on his back, arrows ready but otherwise untouched. They wait behind a cluster of dark blue crystal deep within the forest, the light creating a soft glow upon all of their faces. Allura grips her spear tighter, strong fingers drumming against the stone beside her in time with some private beat the rest of them cannot hear.

 

Lifting his head slightly, Keith tries to peak over the top of the crystals to the trees beyond, wondering when they will catch sight of accidental movement. It's a waiting game, one that Keith knows is supposed to teach him patience and concentration.

 

He loathes it.

 

Three more Hunters wait with them, the markings on their skin less defined than that of Pidge or Acantha, yet glowing just the same. Several turn to Keith and catch his eye, no doubt having grown used to him now, no longer fearing that he'll somehow tie them up and kill them to take their riches.

 

He glances at his ankle, missing the reassuring pressure of the crystals against his skin. But there's no way he'd risk it falling or ripping away during something like this, lost to the damp dewy grass.

 

"Ready yourselves." Allura whispers, suddenly raising into a crouch.

 

Keith perks up, the leather on his knuckles creaking slightly as he decides to lower the spear and instead reach for the bow and arrows. He settles the weight and pulls an arrow back in a slow steady inhale, waiting for Allura to give the order to fire.

 

She always, without fail, leads them to victory.

 

Suddenly, she grins and shouts, " _Now!_ "

 

Keith jumps up, bringing the bow shoulder level, warm feather of the arrow brushing against his cheek. Movement charges through the trees and he lines his sights on a careless runner, following their quick sprint.

 

With a word taught to them by Pidge, something ancient that settles on the tongue, he knows his shot will fly faster than any before it. That the word will breathe life into whatever attack he gives, the glow of the arrowhead like the shooting of a star in the cosmos.

 

" _Fleire_." He whispers.

 

The arrow releases with his exhale and a whir, brushing strands of dark hair away from his brow as he watches it find the thickly woven armored chest of the boy. Allura's spear follows soon after, splintering Keith's arrow with a center hit; scarily accurate and impressive.

 

The boy shouts and falls, alerting the rest of Keith's team to speed ahead, swift feet carrying them until they can snatch the orb of light hanging from the boy's neck.

 

The first time Keith was told to let a spear pierce another person, he'd faltered. They told him it wouldn't kill them, that they made their armor resilient to their own weapons.

 

 _Should the enemy ever descend, they could never hope to kill us with our own craft._ Acantha had said.

 

What they didn't tell him, however, is that the armor certainly doesn't lessen the pain. Lance was furious, the anger raw on his face as he skidded to kneel beside Keith's breathless form. Keith had wheezed after his surprised shout, fingers clawing at his own chest, feeling the spear surely sink deeper and deeper. Lance pulled it away and tore Keith's armor off, hands cool against his heated skin yet finding no hint of spilled blood.

 

The Hunter who'd ordered Lance to shoot looked both frightened and determined when Lance turned on her, the same spear suddenly poised at the girl's throat. It was only Keith's soft voice, the murmured _i'm alright_ , that kept a rather brutal fight from breaking out.

 

And the pain passed, of course. But there's no doubt Keith felt the soreness of his chest for days afterword.

 

 

Now he runs, almost as quickly as the Hunters, between the trees. His feet find purchase easily, no longer slipping and sliding against the moss or hidden smooth rocks beneath. Allura laughs behind him, jumping over a fallen stump as she takes her own bow and docks an arrow, the sharp point hurtling into its target with a deep thump. Keith skids to a stop when the hidden Hunter yelps before him, another green orb suddenly bright in his path. Keith swipes it up the moment the girl falls and takes the arrow only seconds after that, quick to catch up with the rest of his team while settling the orb against the growing collection on his own chest.

 

The Hunter on the ground gasps and lets his head fall back, eyes wide with pain. Keith yanks the spear out of his armor, relieving the pressure.

 

"Not fair!" He hears a distant call and turns in time to see Lance striding up with his own spear, "Hiding is a cheap trick!"

 

The orb that was supposed to be on own his neck is gone and his hair is a mess from falling into the depths of some deep water pool. Hunk and Pidge follow close behind, their own skin dirty and necks free of any glow.

 

"Oh, let it go." Allura chuckles, reaching up to pull a thick cord from her hair. The tresses go free like a waterfall, the silver strands practically glittering against the patch of sunlight she stands beneath, "You're the one who refuses to play by their rules."

 

"What _pirate_ plays by the _rules_?" Lance counters, throwing his spear to the ground.

 

"You aren't supposed to _be_ a pirate while training. You're meant to Hunt." A voice from behind them interrupts.

 

Keith turns to spot Acantha standing atop a risen slope of land, hands settled on her hips, face painted with streaks of deep crimson.

 

Allura takes her spear from Keith and takes a few steps forward, eyes alight with the Rider's return from her three day scout mission. Acantha takes to the hill and meets Allura halfway, their voices quiet and intimate. Something fond having grown between them; something private and full of heat.

 

The rest of the player's give them a small moment and Lance lets his eyes trail to the Hunter still on the ground, laying with arms splayed and a face full of pained defeat.

 

Lance moves to sit on his ass, a huff of breath leaving his lips. He dips his head and rubs at his eyes, feet digging into dirt.

 

Keith sees it during times like this, the way Lance misses the ocean. As if the waves were pulling at him each second, urging him to come back. But he also sees the way Lance returns his stares, the way his eyes relight and the plains of his face soften. Like an anchor come alive, keeping him grounded by his side.

 

And for now, for the two of them, that is enough.

 

 

☼

 

  
There are berries, so light in color they're almost transparent. That taste like morning dew and something sweet, something light on the tongue. Lance has become addicted to them, leaving the city frequently to pick them from the bushes in the huge rolling fields above. He'd wake Keith from sleep, their shared bed still warm, sheets rumpled, before tugging on his pants. He'd glance at Keith, a smile forming the dark, before sneaking through the wooden door. 

 

And Keith, just like always, is quick to follow.

 

The Volivix that had taken a liking to him, smaller than the others but still intimidatingly large, would rise from her slumber by their door and stick close to Keith's heels. Feathered tail wagging, big paws keeping close, he'd long since grown used to her presence. And Lance, regardless of his own envy and want of a Volivix, has created a strong bond with her as well. 

 

 _A little family, don't you think?_ He'd asked one night, running his hands through her fur,  _You, me and Petunia._

 

Keith had laughed at the name, swearing he'd change it later.  

 

Today, the Volivix sleeps close by, dark fur glistening like onyx in the sun.

 

"They just taste like...air." Keith grumbles, taking one to squeeze.

 

It's firm and round but he knows it will crunch between his teeth and release a cool stream of juice.

 

"They taste like the heavens." Lance argues, bending to pluck yet another, "They taste fresh."

 

"Everything here tastes _fresh_." Keith mumbles, eyes sweeping their surroundings once again, a yawn slowly forming on his lips.

 

In a way, he wants nothing more than rum and some heavy bread. Some salty meat other than fresh water fish and crunchy vegetables.

 

They stop at midday and sit across from each other when the sun is at its highest. Clouds have been building up throughout the morning, passing over the towering walls, coming from the foggy mountains even further ahead.

 

Keith breathes in the scent of the brewing storm, "Will you tell me the truth if I were to ask?"

 

Lance opens his eyes and sits up, his back covered in bits of dirt and flattened grass, "What do you mean?"

 

"Would you tell me the truth?"

 

Lance is quiet, studying Keith's face.

 

Keith blushes and moves closer, rolling a berry between his fingers, "I've told you about the desert and the loss of my memories...you know about my brother, now. I'm just curious. There are things I've been meaning to ask."

 

"Like?"

 

He sighs, feeling a small splash of a raindrop hit his shoulder, "You've mentioned your family, that it was large but you've never told me where they are."

 

Lance tenses and wraps his arms around his risen knees, "What do you want to know, Keith?"

 

"The truth." He says, "If you can."

 

Thunder rumbles in the distance as another gust of cool wind flows through the distant stalks of wheat. It sounds like rain before the true patter even begins, the clouds not ready to let it go just yet.

 

"As far as I know-" Lance clears his throat, letting his shoulders relax just an inch, "they're gone for good."

 

His voice has changed, lessened from its usual confidence to a sound so broken it makes the air around Keith harder to breathe. He waits, watching Lance's brown hair lift and flow with the wind. Strands push against his neck and cheek but he doesn't move to brush it away like he usually does, annoyed when it happens to grow too long.

 

"Pidge mentioned it weeks ago, remember? The way the Emperor would gather families and ruin them, taking them from the world because they had more connection to the crystals than others. I was young, around seven, when he stole them from me."

 

"Why?" Keith whispers, Shiro's face surfacing forcefully in his mind.

 

He thinks of the burning forest as they ran away from a war they should have no part of, Keith around the same age that Lance just mentioned. He thinks of the absence of his own parents, the pain lacing each of Lance's words and Keith's desperate want to shelter them both from it all.

 

Lance hesitates, "They were like us." He says, finally lifting his head to hold Keith's gaze.

 

In his eyes there is water crashing into the rage of fire, a tsunami twisting into the flames of a spilling volcano. It's a knowing look, as if he'd figured something out about Keith that had been previously kept secret.

 

"I'm not like you." Keith grimaces, no matter how he wishes he could be.

 

He wishes to feel the grace of Lance's magic in his own veins, the soothing cool trickle of what travels beneath his skin.

 

But all Keith can ever feel is the fire.

 

All he can see is red.

 

Lance shakes his head, "When his soldiers came for my parents and siblings they ran to the harbor in our city and hid me on a ship. Watched it cast to sea, trusting only the waves to lead me somewhere safe. I was raised by a woman with only one ear," He smirks, just a bit, "and after she died I continued on, building the ship up and finding my own crew. I found Hunk and Allura not long after, both travelling, searching for somewhere to call home. The magic my parents knew ran through my veins poured out of me for the first time after someone had sent the rusted edge of a blade through Hunk's shoulder. All of my anger and hatred that I felt, all of the sadness that never truly leaves, turned into the first wave I'd ever created. Still, the full force of what I could do was kept from me before the eve of a raging storm. When it hit the waves capsized the ship and I fell to the deep. I couldn't breathe-"

 

He rips a blade of grass from the ground and Keith says nothing, letting the words flow from him as they wish.

 

He clears his throat and continues, "I could only really remember bits and pieces of my family for a long time. But months ago, when that Siren took our ship, he showed them to me. My memories opened like a blanket and I was stuck, watching as soldiers ripped my family from the docks and blood splattered onto the sand. There was nothing I could do, young as I was. I was supposed to be hiding and here I was, years later, bringing the Emperor's attention to me like a huge X on a map. He found me, eventually. But each time, I'd slip from the soldiers like mist. I got good at that. Running away."

 

Keith shifts closer, until their knees brush together.

 

"I never planned to turn out this way, you know."

 

"What-"

 

Lance takes a large breath, "Something's warped in me, Keith. I love the sea and the wind but I also love the treasure. The thrill of taking ships to the water, sending them to the grave. I like ignoring the rest of the world. I _like_ running away."

 

"You aren't warped." Keith says immediately, pulling at Lance's hands. He trails his palms up his arms and moves to kneel, until he can brush Lance's hair away from his forehead. He lifts his face toward the sky and waits until his eyes open to meet his own, "Do you love me?"

 

He wishes his voice didn't shake.

 

"I do." Lance says at once, no fear or regret or waver in the words,"I love you every second."

 

Keith pulls back just an inch and brings his hands to his own neck, unlatching the chain of his medallion with gentle fingers. He lets it swing in the air between them, just for a moment, before leaning close to place it around Lance's neck. The silver chain lays against his dark skin like the golden chain rests against Keith's ankle.

 

"I miss the ocean too." Keith says, sitting back and avoiding Lance's gaze like the plague. He's never been talented at comfort, never so good with words as others. But he tries now, putting all of his feelings into the promise, "So I'll remind you that it's still there, no matter how far we stray from it. That, however all of this ends, we can go back together."

 

Lance touches the medallion, his blue eyes wide as he holds it gently between his fingers, as one would a delicate flower. And then he is tackling Keith, his strong arms pushing him into the grass as rain finally begins to fall in earnest. Their lips don't touch right away but their eyes relay everything still left unsaid; promises and comfort and hope.

 

The medallion presses against both of their chests, a weight that reminds them of everything they've been through so far. Of everything that is yet to come.

 

But for the moment, neither of them care to think of things like Emperor's and crystals and dragon-fire.

 

Instead, they let the water wash them clean. 

 

"Thank you." Lance whispers, a bright smile lighting his face before he swoops down, pressing Keith's waiting lips to his own.

 

 

☼

 

The wolves aren't the only animals they keep within the walls.

 

The visits started slowly with Lance and Keith only watching from a distance, their weapons lowered and placed firmly on the ground.

 

They may never have spotted the creature if Lance hadn't stopped Keith from trampling a small patch of bright blue flowers beneath his foot one night. The flowers were running along a path they tended to follow, created by something unseen. As if they'd sprouted with footsteps, freshly grown and full of life. They followed the patches of flowers until they stumbled upon the very tree that looms so far above the others in the huge forest, giving them an idea of just how far they wandered the path.

 

Keith was amazed by the floating trunk so thin at the top but wide beneath, where the largest amber crystal he'd ever seen sprouted like a root. Thousands of sparkling ember-like shards shot from the ground beneath their feet and rose toward the sky. The shard's slow descent landed on their skin like powder, glimmering bright before fading away. Keith wanted to find a vial in his bag to fill, to bring to Hunk and Pidge.

 

But Lance tugged him back until they were crouched behind a large bush. Keith started to whisper in question but the crunch of hooves against the earth made him freeze. The creature was a towering sight yet strangely fragile, the long white legs that held up its body riddled with spots of gold and brown. Towering antlers rose from behind it's long ears, the tips giving way to the twist of something branchlike, the same crystals that litter the land embedded into them like shards of sparkling glass.

 

It walked slowly, the dark hooves digging at the moss with each little step. The blue flowers sprout one after another behind it, fresh and bright, shifting with the bloom of the petals.

 

"It's definitely not a deer." Lance whispered, making the creature perk it's ears at the noise.

 

An opal in the shape of an oval rested on it's furred forehead, settled snug between the arch of the antlers.

 

They never got to touch it and though they returned almost every evening, they never saw it again.

 

When they tell Pidge, she can hardly believe it.

 

"My brother used to say it was supposed to be good luck." She says around a fire one night, licking warmed sweets from her fingers, voice excited and pitched in a way that Keith knows means she'll look into it for hours later, "Our ancestor's believed it to be something celestial. A child direct from the cosmos."

 

Keith wonders at her absent brother, at the way she avoids his name in almost all conversation. Lance mentioned a scouting mission gone wrong, the loss of countless Rider's; the chance that he may still be alive. Though, if his tone was anything to go by, Keith supposes none of them should count on it. 

 

Hunk makes a noise in question, raising on an elbow from his sprawled position on the ground. Allura leans away from Acantha and throws the rest of her fruit into the fire, white brows raised. 

 

" _I've_ definitely never seen it but apparently it's drawn to specific people. People it chooses. And once you've seen it," Pidge snaps her fingers, "that's good luck."

 

 

☼

 

Keith should have known to never rely on luck.

 

A few months into their stay a lone sentry returns from scouting the land around the Walls. He is alone, no wolf companion by his side, and covered in thick red; dark as oxblood.

 

They don't hear or see him at first. The day had been playing out as smoothly as ever and Keith is just about to follow Allura and their team for practice in the forest when his scream finally reaches the city.

 

" _Attack!_ " He shouts, voice carrying over the hustle of the city with surprising force.

 

Keith turns quickly, hand immediately reaching for his absent sword. The reality of it all slams into him: his brother and the dragons and the Emperor-

 

And then the Great Leader is there, her presence blowing into the center of the city like a reaper, dense smoke following her descent. She looks around, sharp eyes passing over the crowd before finally locking onto Keith.

 

He hasn't seen her since they're arrival to Virin and though Acantha swore the Great Leader was doing important tasks, things that would always prove to be for their benefit, Keith couldn't help but doubt it.

 

But as the woman glides forward and grabs his arm in a steel grip, he feels as if she'd waited for a moment just as this to finally seek him out.

 

With a grim press of her brows, she tugs him away, "Follow me, _Princeling_."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fleire --> Fly.*
> 
> Volivix are as big as like, a small car. So Petunia is literally ginormous! 
> 
> Also, I'm debating writing a little chapter for Allura and Acantha, simply because I love them...alot. And I think it'd be nice to have something from Allura's point of view. Let me know if you'd be interested! I may make it a standalone chapter with the others that I'll write as a kinda epilogue to this story.


	13. Chapter 13

 

The city is in chaos.

 

Groups of Hunters lead as many people as they can toward the forest, their shouts loud and sharp even from within the walls of the temple they pass. Keith is backed into a corner as the Great Leader leans on her desk, the markings on her skin writhing.

 

"I won't." Keith shakes his head again, glancing toward the door.

 

"You must!" She slams her hands back onto the table, rattling jars full of plants and miscellaneous objects as her patience wears thin, "If you are captured, all will be lost!"

 

"I thought he wanted Lance." Keith bristles, hating the words coming from his own mouth, "And I won't leave him behind. I won't run."

 

"The Emperor knows you're here." She sighs, letting her temper simmer. "He'll want you first. You're now the bigger threat and he knows it. You can take his throne-"

 

"I can't-"

 

"You _will_ run into the forest." She starts again, slowly walking around the table. A large bow rests on her back, the string thick and glowing, "You will go far and your Lance will be safer with you gone. But first, I must settle your blood. The Emperor can sense you from miles away."

 

"I can't even control this magic." Keith stands straighter as she approaches, wondering if he could take her; knock her down, evade her. "Not like Lance. Not like you."

 

"Which is just what he wants. He will either try to control you himself or he will _destroy_ you."

 

"I won't let him!"

 

" _Then we all die!_ " She grabs his arm, pushing his sleeve up with force, "This is what must be done."

 

Keith wishes Lance would burst through the door. He wishes he could find the strength to push the woman away and run, far from her bad omens, until he's holding his old sword and feeling Lance's back against his own. He listens for the beating of wings or the great roars from the sky, wondering if his brother was the one leading the attack.

 

Instead, he hears only his own heart. The way it beats rabid against his ribs.

 

Keith shakes his head, hair falling across his eyes as he looks toward his feet, "I can't leave him."

 

"Then you will kill him." Great Leader sighs, bringing a worn hand to his cheek, urging him to lift his head.

 

To keep it high.

 

It's a gentle touch and completely unexpected; so much so that Keith feels his shoulders sag in a strange sort of comfort. And her eyes, pools of wisdom aged like the trunks of the trees, show only understanding.

 

Sorrow.

 

Endless determination.

 

Reluctantly, Keith allows himself to nod, "What do we have to do?"

 

"It will hurt." She drops her hand and leads him to the center of the room, motioning for him to keep his sleeve pushed to his elbow, "But it will keep your magic sealed within you long enough for you to get away and find the nation of Altea. Ask for direction along the way, keep to the untred paths. The Druids there can explain everything that I have run out of time to. They can help you better than I ever could."

 

"And this will keep him safe?" Keith gulps, watching as Great Leader picks up a blade and stalks forward, the edges coated in something silver.

 

She doesn't reply, only brings the tip of the blade down to pierce his wrist.

 

It's razor sharp, slicing quick and true. He has no time to react before her hand is placed on top, creating a sigil that singes like something molten into his flesh. A burst of light shoots toward the ceiling and Keith is thrown back, slamming into the wall with a heavy thud.

 

Great Leader falls into the table but he can't do much to help, not when the pain within his wrist begins to travel up and up, until it pours into each chamber of his heart.

 

Until all heat inside of him snuffs like a candle left to the wind.

 

☼

 

Branches rip at his skin, every prick sinking deeper into another, like warnings to turn back.

 

He doesn't care.

 

The forest inside of the walls stretch further than he thought and he knows he wasted time under the watchful eye of Great Leader; hoping to ease her with the image of him running away from the attack on the city. It's still too quiet where he runs, too dark and still, but the sounds of swords and shouting are growing louder in his ears all the same.

 

The distance seems to stretch forever, like an illusion keeping him on some forsaken path. His body feels strange without the constant heat beneath his skin, his vision wavers and his hands shake but he doesn't' stop, using the knowledge he's gained from the Hunter's to lead him through the forest like a spirit. His feet find solid ground and don't slip, breath leaving in soft pants even as the breaking of twigs erupts behind him.

 

He doesn't hear it.

 

He thinks only of Lance, knowing that he must be trying to find him. Knowing that he's fighting with all of his soul, blue eyes scanning the battle for any sign of Keith.

 

The thought makes him ache.

 

The shouts echo closer around him now, all warnings given by Great Leader having been pushed away from his intentions. He's close and he knows it; he can feel it. The edge of the forest is just ahead, firelight flickering against the dark branches-

 

But the figure behind him is closer.

 

Like a crashing of rock into his body, he is tumbling into the underbrush. He lands on his back and searches for his fire but it is ever-dormant. A hand pulls back before resting on his forehead, a burst of something sharp entering the space behind his eyelids.

 

All gives way to the dark and he does not rise again.

 

☼

 

_A breeze flows through a foreign field, sweet and cool against Keith's skin._

_Grass brushes against his legs, clouds drift across an endless sky and Keith feels as if everything were new._

_As if everything is safe._

_Before him, higher on the hill upon which he stands, figures sit atop horses of brown and white. Deep crimson cloaks fall from the figure's shoulders and he longs to see their faces but they are shrouded in shadow, as if a dark cloud had risen and chose to rest just above their heads._

_Behind them, on the horizon, a fortress shines full of white stone and sunlight. Flags are held high on each spiral, people mill about in the city just below; prosperous and full of life._

_Keith looks down and sees his hands, small and covered in dirt. Rough from days spent adventuring._

_He starts for the figures, looking at an outstretched hand. He wants desperately to grab it, to hold it close to make sure they never leave. That he isn't left behind._

_But they vanish anyway._

_In a mist, their bodies drift in an endless stream of red and grey, fading until the entire land is given to chaos. Keith hears screams, echoing voices calling for their families, the steady march of an unseen army. And then the field itself is in flames, a great wall of fire as tall as a tidal wave rising higher and higher each second._

_Someone grabs him, pulls at his arm so hard he fears it may snap from the socket. They run toward the underbrush, toward the huge forest of dark green and black-_

_And then the trees swallow them whole._

_The world is shrouded in the dark._

_He is alone._

 

Keith wakes with a start, gasping as if he's gone days without oxygen. He reaches for his throat and panics at the loss of his medallion; at the weight that should be resting there.

 

But he doesn't have time to dwell on it.

 

Almost immediately he notices the walls surrounding him, dripping and shimmering against a lone torch perched on the far wall. The flame is lit but not close enough to warm his chilled skin.

 

He looks to his clothes, damp and torn as they are, but also his hands. Larger than those in his dream but just as rough, calloused and cut and bruised. They've been shackled and he tries to pull at them but the metal simply rubs against his wrists, a long chain connecting him to the wall.

 

"You've been unconscious for three days."

 

Keith lifts his head, spotting the lone figure in the corner almost immediately. Just by the width of his shoulders, the tilt of his voice, Keith knows who he is. It's painful, the way he longs to reach for Shiro, to let his arms wrap him in a hug that could hide him from the world.

 

"Where am I?" Keith asks instead, voice raspy and dry.

 

Parched.

 

Shiro doesn't answer, instead choosing to take his time as he pulls the torch from the wall. The flame dances in front of his face, illuminating the scar that runs along the bridge of his nose. Casting shadows against the sharp rise of his cheeks.

 

But more than that, Keith sees the flash of his eyes.

 

It makes him freeze, suddenly chilled to the bone.

 

Even as Shiro whistles for two burly guards to enter the cell, even as they haul him up and push him forward while they gather the chains, Keith is locked onto the glow. Eerie and inhuman, passing beside him like a wraith. Shiro steps close behind and Keith feels his presence similar to a knife in the spine.

 

Keith wants to shake him, to bring him back and see his old smile. The one that would tell Keith: everything will be alright.

 

But as Shiro pushes him forward, Keith knows there will be no smiles here.

 

And that the man behind him is not his brother.

 

They pass rows upon rows of cells, each holding groups of prisoners huddled in rank corners. Keith looks straight ahead, gathering his strength and his wits as much as he can, knowing that if he were to strike now he would drop dead in seconds.

 

He wouldn't stand a chance.

 

Eventually they reach a tower of steps, steep and drafty and dark, leading toward a large bolted door. It's hard to climb but Keith doesn't allow himself a moment to falter, not even a breath released too loud. His legs ache, cuts spanning from his run through the forest, the likes of which is returning to him in increments.

 

Great Leader and the distant battle, the smell of smoke and screams.

 

Guards wait at the door and Keith notices the pallor of their skin. Sickly pale, as if they were nothing more than walking corpses. Yet they move fluidly enough, opening the door with a heaving push.

 

The light that follows almost blinds Keith, his days spent unconscious proving to have affected him more than he originally thought. But as they enter the long corridor, Keith realizes that the light isn't very bright at all.

 

He's just grown used to the dark.

 

The dim flickers come from bolted flames running along the walls, every few feet passing from dark to light and back again. Each corridor they take looks much the same, with only guards to cause any disruption. But even so, they only glance at Keith before giving a respectful nod to Shiro.

 

When they reach the final entrance, Keith tries to see the etchings carved into the grand doors. But with such little light he can only make out the flowing of lines, unable to put them together.

 

The room that he's finally pushed into is huge, with towering walls of intricate iron and wide windows draped in heavy dark cloth. For just a moment, he gets a whiff of salt like that of the sea.

 

It makes him falter, chest clenching tight, heart bending fast behind his ribs.

 

The tiles on the floor are clean but bare, no form of art or pattern placed as decoration. A lone painting above is shrouded by an onyx chandelier, larger than any he's seen before. The pulsing of tainted purple light creates even deeper shadow, hiding the faces that watch from the rafters around him.

 

But none of this truly matters to Keith.

 

Not when just across the room, seated on a throne crafted by generations of crowns and blood, is the subject of his abhorrence.

 

The guards drag him forward before forcing him to his knees, wasting no time in grabbing his hair. They yank his head back and his eyes fall upon the Emperor whether he wants them to or not.

 

But Keith doesn't turn his eyes away and he revels in the distaste that arises on the man's face. Keith's scalp hurts but he dares not move, instead choosing to let his eyes meet the Emperor's own, until the entire room is tense enough to slice clean through.

 

The Emperor lifts a ringed finger and the guards let Keith go.

 

"So you've returned at last." The man sneers, leaning forward, "Just as my father always said you would."

 

Keith's brows furrow as the man speaks, thoughts shifting through memories and conversations, looking for anything that could give him an answer. It's obvious that this man is not Zarkon, that the entire realm seems to be following a lie-

 

And then it hits Keith. Like a bolt of lightning, his mind clears and Pidge's voice shines through with conversation from nights ago.

 

_They say he has a son. Lotor. Though none have seen him...perhaps he's dead._

 

Keith clenches his jaw, taking in the man before him, studying the expanse of his face. Just as strange as his guards, cruel and vicious and madly intelligent. Two marks run like blades on either side of his face, the crown on his head resting like a dark fallen star, the corrupted crystal in the center casting small beams of light onto his silver hair.

 

"I wouldn't call this a voluntary visit." Keith finally says, resisting the urge to cough at the scratch in his throat.

 

Shiro walks around Keith, his boots echoing on the floor and Keith shivers as his dark cloak brushes against his bare arm. He watches in barely contained horror as his brother takes his place beside Lotor, hand resting on the hilt of his obsidian sword.

 

It's a threat, he's sure.

 

"Visit? Don't you know who you are?" Lotor asks, feigning good humor. He tilts his head, "The lost prince. The _forgotten_ prince."

 

"You're wrong."

 

Lotor stands and begins to walk down the steps, his armor and cloak matching that of the chandelier above their heads. Keith tries to stand but a guard grabs at his hair again, making him hiss in pain.

 

Lotor studies him as if he were waiting.

 

As if he were expecting something.

 

And Keith knows that if he could, he would force whatever power is inside of him to strike Lotor down from where he stands. But the dull pain in his wrist reminds him of what he'd done, of what he'd let the Great Leader do.

 

He's helpless.

 

"So the rumors were false?" Lotor's eyes narrow, hinted with a dull yellow, "You hold no power. I feel not even a spark."

 

"Rumors? Your dad read you bedtime stories?" Keith taunts, feeling a wash of confidence.

 

Seeing a shine of blue eyes in his mind.

 

Lotor sneers, "I barely knew the man. I manipulated his court, found followers in his soldiers by fighting with them in battle. I took control from the inside so that when my blade slit his throat, no one would bat an eye. Instead, they have hailed me their _king_."

 

"Yet you hide." Keith counters, "While everyone outside of this castle thinks you're dead."

 

Shiro shifts and Keith tries to look, to catch his gaze, but Lotor blocks his efforts. The guards let go of his hair once more, shuffling back as Lotor squats in front of him. His armor is free of marks and abrasions, clean as the day it was made.

 

It makes Keith sick.

 

"Where is it?"

 

Keith flicks his attention to Lotor, looking into his eyes like one would an abyss. He sees no light; not even a crevice.

 

"The _medallion_ , boy. Your brother-" He hisses the word, "reported that you wore it about your neck."

 

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about-"

 

Knuckles slam into Keith's face he gasps, blood pooling against his tongue like a flood. It tastes of copper and he spits it just as fast, partially satisfied when it lands on Lotor's boots.

 

"I will let you live." Lotor says, tone a mockery of mercy, "Hand it to me and I will even return your brother to you."

 

Keith's eyes widen and he feels a deep tug within his chest at the thought. A temptation. No doubt just a false promise. For all Keith knows, Lotor could be promising to simply turn Keith into another weapon. A mindless soldier, left to do the bidding of a madman.

 

Just as Great Leader warned.

 

Keith lifts his head and grins, blood staining his teeth, "I have no idea what you're-"

 

Lotor lets out a noise from deep within his throat and stands quickly, using his boot to push violently on Keith's chest. He reels back and feels the cuffs on his wrists sink into his skin when he tries to break the fall.

 

"Then you're useless!" Lotor motions for the guards to haul Keith up, "I will find it with or without you. When I do, the crystals will unleash pure energy into my blood, warped to my bidding. And do you know what that means?"

 

Keith remains silent.

 

"It means I will live _forever_." Lotor's eyes look crazed, "I will suck this planet dry and find a way to move on to the next. And that, dear, is when my reign will _truly_ begin." He tsks, eyes roaming Keith, "What a waste you've proven to be. Perhaps you could have become rather powerful-"

 

"Shove it up your ass." Keith spits, specks of blood flying.

 

Lotor says nothing else as he ascends his throne. The guards grip Keith tightly beneath the arms and yank until he's on his feet and shuffling forward, jaw tense with pain. But it's only when Keith is almost to the door that he feels his blood run cold.

 

That he feels the entire planet shift, as if it were falling from the axis.

 

"Do you know? Has anyone told you?" Lotor laughs, a deep sound rough from disuse, "That the entire forest is ash."

 

Keith stops.

 

"Your people are burnt to crisps."

 

His voice wavers but Keith turns his head anyway, ears pricking, "I don't believe you."

 

"And the one that you love," Lotor sighs, "that filthy pirate? He was burned _alive_."

 

And finally, Keith snaps.

 

The words that fly from his lips are like the roar of the winged beasts he knows rest somewhere within these walls, " _You're lying!_ "

 

He yanks and is able to get one arm free, the chain swinging away from the guard's grip. Keith reaches but it isn't like the gentle yearning for the hand in his dream. It's desperate and strong and he knows that if he could make it there, he would rip Lotor's throat out with his fucking teeth.

 

But the guards grab hold of him again, cursing as they force Keith back. And as the doors shut in his face, Keith finds that he can't even look at his brother.

 

He can only see the Emperor's grin, the tilt of his head, the red ruby that sits vile and stolen upon his finger.

 

☼

 

Upon returning to his cell, Keith kicks out at the bars. His bare feet burn against the metal but he's strong enough to send the guard's back, grunts giving way to angry shouts as Keith makes for the door.

 

His feet slap against the stone and he breathes hard, days without food and drink making his stomach cramp. He makes it to the first step before someone grabs his shirt and yanks, sending him crashing to the floor.

 

A nasty face, full of warts and thick hair, stares down at him.

 

"You tryn' ta run, eh?" The man bends and yanks him up, breath rank in his face, "Didn't get far, did ya?"

 

And then Keith is thrown haphazardly into the cell, skin scraping.

 

He doesn't even feel the pain.

 

With a release of his breath, Keith's shoulders sag against the wall. His fingers find his jaw and he presses down, hissing at the sharp pain that follows. Once the guard's have left the dungeon, all light is put out.

 

No flicker left, not even a glow.

 

He's left to the endless dark. And the voices; whispers and mumbles and questions.

 

"That was pretty stupid."

 

Keith snaps his head to the left and debates picking up a loose stone to hurtle at the voice. But the boy shifts forward, face hard to distinguish until he's much closer than Keith would like.

 

The face that slowly forms is so familiar, Keith could sob. Inky vines run along his neck, paler than Pidge's but just as lithe. And his eyes, auburn hair and a snarky mouth-

 

"You're her brother." Keith breathes, chains rattling against the ground, "Pidge."

 

The boy visibly flinches, thick brows furrowing, "You know Pidge?"

 

Keith nods, "I know all of them. Great Leader and the Hunter's and Rider's-"

 

"Is she here?" The boy interrupts, "Did he take her? Is she dead?"

 

"They attacked Virin." Keith licks his chapped lips, "I was knocked unconscious before I could make it to the fight but Lotor...he said it was burnt to ash."

 

Any life that had been in the boy falters. His shoulders drop and his eyes glaze over, marks on his skin slowing back to an undulating slither.

 

"But I don't believe him." Keith continues, "He's lying through his fuckin' teeth."

 

"Yeah?" The boy scoffs, "Don't count on that."

 

It grows quiet, all shock having started to fade. Something presses against Keith's fingers and he can feel the cool metal of a flask, the slosh of water inside too precious for him to allow even a drop to spill. He lifts it slowly, nodding once in thanks before bringing it to his lips.

 

The water isn't fresh, that much he can tell. But he drinks it as if it came from the clearest stream, his eyes falling shut in relief.

 

"I'm Matt, by the way." The boy clears his throat, "In case my sister forgot to mention me."

 

Keith shakes his head and takes a gasping breath, the water having rejuvenated him just enough for his mind to clear, "She never told me what happened to you. But she has hope."

 

"Of course she does." Matt leans back, the rattle of his own chains loud, "Btu all that hope is useless now. I almost got close enough to end all of this, you know? Was out on a scouting mission, ran into a group of rebels, came here dressed like those bastards out there after months of training. Coulda' ended all of this-"

 

"You were captured."

 

"By Shiro." The name makes Keith tense before Matt continues, "He was helping the rebels, said he got out of Zarkon's army the day his son slit his throat, that the soldiers were confused, everything chaotic enough to let him slip away. Led us through the gates, got us in the the throne room but the witch showed up and just took control. Completely wiped him clean. He turned on us too fast and I lost everyone."

 

The pain in his voice makes Keith want to say something, give some form of comfort. But he's speechless, the idea of his brother leading a faction of rebels making something akin to pride blossom in his chest.

 

Matt speaks again, "My execution will be soon, i'm sure of it. Been here almost two damn years, how much longer will it take?" He clenches his fists on his thighs, "I want to see the sun. Just wanna see it one last time."

 

Keith bows his head and squeezes his eyes shut, brain turning to rapid fire thoughts. Plans are already forming and falling away, his brother's old smile shining true before collapsing into the nightmare of a snarl.

 

But as the cell grows quiet once again, and the reality of the situation sinks in, all Keith can do is lean back and shut his eyes. Feel the damp stone beneath his legs, the chains digging into the flesh at his wrists.

 

Even though he doesn't want to believe it, he can't help but fixate on Lotor's words.

 

_The one you love...burned alive-_

 

Keith picks up a stone and finally chucks it at the wall, the bits shattering and pattering to the ground like sand.

 

All he can do is sit.

 

And wait.

 

And think.

 

☼

 

 

Two nights later Keith shuffles to Matt and touches his shoulder, jolting the boy awake.

 

And in the dark, with only the drip drop of something wet in the distance, Keith whispers the words that he's held onto. The words that are pushed by the disbelief that Lance is gone but the knowledge that, ultimately, there's no way he could have escaped the destruction of Virin.

 

With a breaking heart, Keith grasps Matt's hand in a vise grip. He pulls him close, eyes shining like twin flames in the dark.

 

" _I'm getting you out of here._ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdkflkdsa i accidentally posted this chapter missing the first half...so reupload, sorry! 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so so much for the comments and kudos! They're my biggest motivator. 
> 
> Also just a warning for the next chapter: things are going to be particularly violent. 
> 
> I might start posting when this story updates on my [tumblr ](https://lightsaberking.tumblr.com/) for all of you on there. maybe, perhaps? idk yet
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're all enjoying! Next chapter should be up soon :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: this chapter depicts Very stronger-than-usual violence.

 

 

  
In the grand scheme of things, Keith knows he won't be escaping with Matt.

 

His destiny, it seems, has never been the sea. It isn't the Hunter's or even the sun scorched desert.

 

It is here, in this castle of ruin.

 

When the guards come for someone in the opposite cell, their weak voice pleading for what sounds like mercy, Keith slams a stone against the bars of his own with a heavy clack. The guards turn to him, sneers already formed on their placid faces. Keith slams another and another, until they're dropping the other prisoner and slamming his bars shut, striding closer with hands settled on the hilt of their swords.

 

"I need to speak to the Emperor." Keith says, fingers curling around a heavier stone at his side, the likes of which he and Matt had spent hours pulling from the ground, "I've thought about my situation. I find it... lacking."

 

The guard closest to him, a woman with limp blonde hair, narrows her eyes. She clicks her tongue against her teeth and regards him like one would an insect; meant to be stomped beneath a heavy boot.

 

"You're going to risk angering him? Risk keeping his biggest weapon locked in a cage? I'm the _only_  person that knows where the Medallion is." Keith pushes, trying to ignore the thought that this entire plan can fail in seconds.

 

He just needs one of them to open the bars, just one-

 

The burly man pushes the woman aside and gathers a key, grumbling something unintelligible beneath his breath.

 

Keith slides his eyes to the right before giving a supple nod, barely a shift of his head in the flickering torchlight. But Matt coughs and he knows, just by that sound, that he's ready to run.

 

So, when the gate finally opens, Keith strides forward. Both guards try to reach for him but he's fast, keeping his pace quick enough to gather their attention and hold it. Stupid as they seem, they care more for grabbing Keith between their hands than turning to the cell they managed to leave unlocked.

 

Keith thanks whatever deity may be listening that the lowly guards are given the duty to ward prisoners. He practically runs up the stairs and purposefully takes a wrong turn, the voices of the guards carrying on after him, outraged and panicked. 

 

Hopefully, Matt is already making his way through the winding corridors, remembering the route Shiro took him all those years ago. Keith can lead the guards away, he can keep them busy, but the plan could be easily foiled.

 

It makes Keith doubt, his intentions switching like a match being lit in the dark.

 

With a huff, Keith turns and grips the rock tighter, quickly slamming it into the man's unprotected skull. The crack is loud but it does the job, bringing the hulking man to the floor in seconds. Keith is quick to pick up his sword and hold it tight, the metal familiar but wholly _not_ his. It's a tad awkward, rounded at the base and dull along the blade. The woman rounds the corner and takes in the scene with another snarl, her own sword rising from the sheath on her hip.

 

Keith doesn't wait for her to make the first move. He strides forward and brings his sword down in a lashing wave of energy, fear and anger and sudden desperation washing over him like high tide. The woman blocks his blows only once before the blade slices at the small sliver of unprotected flesh at her neck. He pushes deep and true, the blade easily protruding from the hairline on her neck.

 

He yanks it free and doesn't bother watching her fall, her gurgles loud and violent. As if he'd become possessed, Keith finds that he _has_ to leave. Killing the guards was never the plan. He'd simply meant to lead them away, to let Matt get out and hopefully find survivors from the attack on Virin.

 

But life is a driving force, one that reminds him that he's never given up before. Not like this. Not to people like Lotor, who thrive in the wake of genocide and corruption.

 

Keith runs back the way he came and passes the dungeon, sending a silent apology to those still trapped inside.

 

He follows the only path that Matt could have possibly taken.

 

And then he is yanked to the right.

 

"Change your mind?" Matt whispers, slamming Keith to the wall beside him. He waits for the passing of several guards to disappear before grabbing hold of Keith's arm and yanking him back into the corridor, "How'd you lose the guards?"

 

Keith keeps pace with Matt's long legs, "Did what I had to do."

 

Matt doesn't reply but Keith knows he understands.

 

"You know where you're going?" Keith huffs, his body practically shouting at him.

 

He's had nothing but old breads and warm, sour water for days. He smells and he has a constant headache.

 

He's grown weak.

 

Matt is faring even worse, though neither of them comment on it. They simply run, grabbing hold of the little strength they do have to propel them forward.

 

"Sure." Matt laughs, "How terrible can my memory be? Few turns here, a stairwell there. Easy."

 

He doesn't sound very sure.

 

But Keith follows him anyway.

 

They duck into a small passage and Matt glances at Keith's sword, something like relief spilling onto his face, as if the blade could possibly help. He holds it tight and nods when Matt motions for them to continue, their feet alarmingly loud as they bound down a flight of stone steps.

 

And then-

 

_Sunlight._

 

It blinds Keith and he holds a hand to his eyes, coming to a complete stop when he realizes that he'd been in Virin long enough for the months to turn from cold to those of heat. Matt breathes heavily but his eyes are wide, water already pouring from the tear ducts unused to anything other than the impenetrable dungeon.Keith can only imagine how it feels for him. How it's affected him, being locked in place like that for so long. The open sky above them is a small patch, the two walls rising like beasts on either side of the sewer ahead, blocking any chance they have at seeing it stretch. But it's the sky all the same and they cherish it.

 

Matt forces his shock to a simmer and he runs forward, taking to the sewer with heavy steps and swinging arms. It smells and there's no doubt that any open skin will become infected but these things are trivial compared to what lays ahead. Matt motions for Keith to hurry, to keep up.

 

And Keith almost sprints forward. He almost makes it to the rancid tunnel and drudges through the maze of sewers below, until he inevitably reaches the release of it into murky sea water.

 

But there is a clamoring behind him. A heavy door swinging wide, the burst of footsteps on stairs.

 

Matt turns to look at him, his hair falling in greasy strings against his cheeks. His eyes go wide, fear staining his hope and threatening to burn it to ash. Keith can see the opening of his mouth, as if he were going to scream at Keith to run, to _hurry_.

 

Without another thought, Keith simply turns his back. He closes his eyes and wills Matt to go, to understand that Keith isn't coming after all.

 

That it was never going to happen and they both knew it.

 

He hears the splash of water as Matt finally, blessedly, takes off. And just as his footsteps disappear, the guards bound down the steps and spill like ants from a hive. Their dark armor glints, blinding Keith as they pull their weapons.

 

It's a cacophony.

 

And then it is silence.

 

A dead silence, one that sends a chill running the length of Keith's body. Nausea rolls into his stomach at the thought that he'll die here, that his body will fall into the shit-water behind him and be thrown into a pile somewhere far away.

 

But the blade never comes. It doesn't enter his chest or slice at his neck or spill his guts.

 

Instead, Shiro pushes through the guards, hood shadowing the expanse of his face.

 

And Keith suddenly realizes that whatever awaits him now, it is much worse than death.

 

 

☼

 

  
Lotor watches from the rafters as Keith is dragged through the streets, shamed by a public that is too frightened to do anything about what is to come. Lotor's balcony is covered by a flimsy peace of white cloth, hazy enough to keep curious eyes from seeing the youth on his face, the way his long white hair is the exact opposite of his father's.

 

Keith had seen the portraits while he was dragged through the castle. They were hung in a morbid display of what once was, as if Lotor liked to remind himself that he'd won.

 

Now, Keith can't do much except ignore the leering crowd. They spit and curse like they figured Keith was some treacherous criminal, their stench wafting to the circle of stone waiting ahead. The guards tug on Keith's chains and yank him forward, the bare skin on his back already heating from the bright sun. For a moment, Keith assumes he's been walking to his execution. That the Emperor didn't care for anything but his rolling head after Matt's successful escape.

 

Instead, he's forced to a post and latched around it, the chains weighted by a hook in the ground. He grunts and pulls against them, trying to remain standing.

 

He looks around, searching for Shiro without even realizing it. But his eyes never find his brother and he supposes it doesn't matter, that he's probably standing beside Lotor up above anyway.

 

It confuses Keith; the crowd and the guards and the post.

 

But when a man covered in muscle steps onto the stone, with a face deep-set and mean, it all makes sense. A barbed whip sits heavy in his hands, hanging like vine and swinging along his legs. He looks to Keith but no emotion passes his face, not even a twitch of the eye. Keith tenses, pulse quickening to a jumpy rhythm, eyes squeezing shut. He doesn't know what to expect of the pain. He can only hope that it passes quickly, that he'll fall and not wake again.

 

The first swing makes him gasp, eyes blinking open, pupils blown. The second comes with a whir of wind and it pulls at his skin, his fingers wrapping tight around the chains, blood already dripping to the stone.

 

Stone that, now that he stares down at it, is already stained with red.

 

By the tenth swing, he's screaming.

 

And by the fifteenth, he's falling.

 

His entire body shakes but there's nothing he can do other than grab hold of the chains. The pain is consuming, gathering him up only to slam him back to reality. It's there and it's forcing his attention, making each gasp from the crowd louder, the huff of horses holding guards echoing as if he were in a chamber instead of a city square. 

 

The next swing doesn't come and he thinks it's over.

 

But the sound of something sizzling makes him whip his head to the right, cheeks stained with shed tears and dirt.

 

The metal pole in the man's hand holds something molded by flame, deep and orange and heated to hell. Keith tries to pull away, to keep the man from bringing it closer but it doesn't work.

 

And as the huge X is seared into the skin of his cheek, everything is thrust into the dark. 

 

 

☼

 

Days blur.

 

Keith fades in and out of consciousness as hands prod at his back, unbearable pain making him scream. He hears himself in third person, as if it weren't even his voice no matter how much it cracks and rips into the air.

 

In the back of his mind, when the pain eases for just a moment, he knows that he isn't being saved. That the hands that wipe at his skin and force water down his throat aren't doing it out of mercy or kindness. They simply keep infection away so that he can live on, so that he can deal with the coming days without fever ripe hysteria.

 

They heal him just enough to make his suffering extend.

 

 

☼

 

After Keith has awoken and found that his mind wouldn't pull him back under, he's thrown into a new cell. His back is still raw and red, scars deep enough to rise against his spine and lower hips. But they are no longer gaping, no longer susceptible to quick infection. The scar on his cheek burns and aches, the symbol too sensitive for him to touch. But it's there all the same, the X a merciless reminder that the Emperor sees him as nothing more than a pirate. One of the hundreds that he's no doubt put to death, eager to rid the closest sea of any rebellion.

 

Keith takes only one gulp of the warm mug of water they shoved into his cell before throwing it at the wall, watching as it explodes in wet shards. His mind is raging, tossing and ripping like a blazing desert storm.

 

The sound of the whip replays in his mind for hours, the feel of it tugging at his skin and ripping at flesh harrowing to the bone. He closes his eyes tight and keeps only one thought in his mind.

 

One constant drone of hope, no matter how small it may be.

 

_Matt is free._

 

He tries to make it overtake the other sensations; the memories and emotions and urges to do something stupid. He tries and tries, until a new set of footsteps descend into the cellar. The guard standing outside of his cell leaves before another replaces him, the swish of their cloak soft against the metal bars.

 

But Keith doesn't really notice; not until he has to.

 

"You were a fool."

 

Shiro watches him, his hood settled thick upon his broad shoulders. He sports what Keith assumes must be his riding gear, as dark as the night sky, metal spikes sprouting from his gloved knuckles.

 

"What do you want?" Keith hisses, walking as close as he can to the bars.

 

"He would have spared you if you hadn't killed the guards."

 

"Is that what he did?" Keith can hear the edge in his voice, "When he forced you to betray your friends? Did he _spare_ you?"

 

Shiro's jaw clenches, "I wanted this."

 

"You  _never_ would have wanted this! And if you can get us out of here, I can bring you to someone who can help you! Who can help us both!" He thinks of Great Leader and the druids she spoke of.

 

"There is nothing to be done."

 

"Don't you remember anything?" Keith winces at the waver in his voice, "You left home spouting shit about sending money, about making everything better. And all this time, I've searched for you! To bring you _home!_ "

 

Keith waits, his eyes locked onto those of his brother. Begging for a spark of remembrance, for a hint of familiarity or care, anything to alert him that whatever the Emperor did to him is not final. That it can be undone.

 

As the silence grows, however, so does his fear. And it settles around them, until the hue of Shiro's eyes remind Keith that he _isn't_ talking to his brother.

 

That his brother must have died with those rebels he was forced to betray.

 

Shiro remains stoic; a vacant shell even as he makes to leave.

 

"Time changes all creatures." Shiro murmurs, "But your incompetence has cost you everything. And now your time is up."

 

And with that he is gone, until his cloak is consumed by the dark.

 

 

☼

  
Not long after, when Keith has settled only because his aching back makes him do so, he spots another figure.

 

What he assumed was playing shadow from a lone torch suddenly moves, flowing toward him like smoke. The figure passes each cell slowly, the clicking of rings or nails hitting each bar the closer they get eerie enough to put Keith's nerves on edge. Guards had come in to put Keith in new chains the moment Shiro had left and he tugs at them now, wondering if he could use them to wrap around the strangers throat. He pulls at them, judging the distance he would need.

 

"I see you've taken my advice."

 

Keith hesitates, the chain wrapped around his palm loosening at the familiar voice, "Who-"

 

"You're a long way from the desert, aren't you? And you've found your brother. Yet it seems you've failed anyway."

 

Keith shuffles forward, watching as the woman lifts her face against the flickering light.

 

"The Witch."

 

The woman doesn't smile nor does she give any indication that he's correct. But he recognizes her anyway. Not so different from their first encounter in the desert, her long gray hair peaks out from beneath a dark maroon hood. Her fingers are slim and senewy, several rings settled against the pale knuckles.

 

"What are you doing here?" Keith sneers against the yellow hue of her eyes, "I thought you'd wanted to help me."

 

"Did I not? Have you not found your brother? You coming here proved that I was correct, that you were the flame I sensed in that wasteland you called _home_." She shifts, as if she could slip through the bars if she needed to, "Now you have a choice."

 

He loathes her hissing voice, the way it grinds and crawls up his spine, "You tricked me. You led me right to Lotor-"

 

"And now you can _thrive_." She tilts her head, "As I've said, you have a choice, one that I extend personally. Give Lotor what he desires or you die."

 

Keith sees the flash of the medallion, the blue of Lance's eyes and knows that the choice is simple. 

 

"Then I die."

 

The witch sneers, a wicked thing that transforms her face. That makes her monstrous.

 

He doesn't watch her leave.

 

 

☼

  
Keith has more time to think than he's had in weeks.

 

He spends hours upon hours pacing, staring at the bars of his cell, digging his fingers into the rough stone beneath his legs until they bleed.

 

And he can only blame himself.

 

 _I should have listened._ He thinks, running a shaky hand through his damp hair, _If I had listened-_

 

He squeezes his palms into his eyelids, shaking his head at the thought. Picking himself up, he moves to another corner, trying and failing to escape the falling drops of water leaking from the cracked ceiling. He has no window to tell if the sun has risen, if the water is from rain. 

 

He tries to think like the Hunters but he can find no weapons other than small rocks; no loosened stone or rusted bars. He even tries to talk to the guard on occasion, to barter, all the while knowing it will make no difference.

 

So, now that he's tried everything, all he can do is give way to his mind.

 

He thinks about the pulsing heat on his cheek and the pain on his back, the chaffed skin around his wrists and the absence of warmth in his lungs. He thinks of Great Leader and her words, her accusations that he's anything more than he is now.

 

 _Prince._ The Emperor's voice overlaps hers, _A forgotten prince._

 

He reaches for his neck but knows he won't find his medallion. And there's a small comfort in that, now. He left it with Lance and there it will stay, out of Lotor's hands forever. His chest clenches but he keeps any more thought of Lance far away, as if he could sling every feeling to the other side of the cell. He wishes to shatter his thoughts and emotions like the mug of water, until the spilling has dried and gone.

 

 

☼

 

The morning is bright and taunting when Keith is finally summoned to be dragged through the courtyard and into a horse drawn wagon. Different than the way to the flogging post, this path is longer, the rolling wheels jostling him constantly. He hisses at the rubbing of his back onto the wood, the sharp pain bringing hot tears to his eyes.

 

But the further they get from the castle, the more he senses: He sees the crowds that follow behind, hears the clop of horses, feels the dip of cobbled hills. And eventually, the shock of warm air has completely thawed his chilled skin. The wagon stops after the long travel and when they pull Keith from the interior, he has to stop himself from falling to his knees.

 

Salt tinged air reaches his nose, the scent closer to home than any land he's ever stepped foot on. He feels it gnawing at his bones, stronger than his longing for the desert could every truly be. Gray and white sea birds caw above, accompanied by the occasional crow; no doubt grown used to executions and the mess thereafter, keeping close to the gallows like the wraiths of the underworld.

 

But Keith can only think of the day as one wasted; a day _perfect_ for catching the wind on sails.

 

He's maneuvered through the crowd like a dog, pulled by Shiro's own hand. He doesn't look for the Emperor, knowing he's no doubt perched somewhere to watch the morbid show. Protected and blocked from view, though his eyes continue to see everything.

 

Keith is dragged until his feet catch on the steps of a wooden platform and the guard behind him steadies his arm. The sun, hotter than it should be so far north, glints off of the bows and muskets pointed at him from every direction. But Keith refuses to look at anything other than the land ahead, past the city that sprawls down a hill and beyond, toward the trees that spread far and wide.

 

Familiar trees.

 

Trees that, if Keith isn't delirious and mistaken, look just like those surrounding Virin. He lets a surge of hope push through him, glad to see that the Emperor hadn't been telling the complete truth.

 

That some of the forest has survived.

 

A large man, covered head to toe in black, stalks up the steps with an unlit torch. Shiro moves to tie Keith's hands above his head and judging by the crowd, this is the first time an execution will involve flames. Dry planks of wood and rolls of cloth are slowly stacked at his feet, the guards nestling them close to his bare ankles before leaning them on his calves.

 

But Keith doesn't care to take notice.

 

He closes his eyes and sucks in a huge gulp of air, even if it is tinged with filth the closer the crowd gets. He knows that Death favors no man. That it takes and indulges, finding the whims of humankind minuscule compared to the rest of the universe.

 

He knows it and yet he still feels cheated.

 

"By the order of the Emperor-" The executioner begins with a bellow, startling Keith from his thoughts, "the offender is hereby guilty of the following crimes: treason, thievery, murder and piracy! Decreed by his Highness, on this seventh day of August, is execution by _fire!_ "

 

The crowd erupts, surprisingly loud but Keith refuses to pay them any mind. He keeps his eyes shut and releases a heavy breath, the sound of the torch being lit seeming to quiet everything else. The whoosh of heat is intense enough to reach Keith's face before it is even thrown.

 

A whiz passes by his ear, a hairbreadth away from cutting the flesh but enough of a shock to make Keith jump. His arms fall like stones as the ropes keeping them high snap clean, until he's almost toppling over the pile of wood, shock making him clumsy. He looks to the executioner just as another arrow flies, sinking into the large man's chest with a sickening squelch. The man falls in a heap, the arrow having struck quick and true even as his hand let loose the fire.

 

Keith rushes forward to yank the dull sword from his hip before jumping from the pyre, body moving as if guided by a strong hand. The crowd bursts into a frenzy, the noises rising into a deafening crescendo as the flame catches, igniting every inch of the execution block. Keith is disoriented, the rush of bodies too hot and fast around him. He keeps the sword pointed to the ground as he tries to look around, to find an explanation for his release.

 

He swivels his head, eyes catching on each face he can before latching onto just one. Shiro stares from across the courtyard as bodies bump into him and Keith freezes, eyes going wide. If anyone could move quick enough to take him down, it will be his own brother.

 

But Shiro only stares for another moment, brows furrowing with an expression Keith can't place, before he is turning away, pushing through the crowd to shout orders at other guards. His metallic arm flashes when he points to a tower on the outskirts of the gallows.

 

Keith pulls his attention away as an old woman slams into him, her wrinkled hand grabbing at his arm to use him as a means to push herself forward. He stumbles and rips himself free, trying to make his way through the thick, knowing that each minute passing is another minute the guards can use to find him.

 

Someone new pulls at his shoulder and he turns, vicious intentions to use his sword rising before he can stop them. The boy sees the sword and scrambles away, becoming lost to the fray.

 

But then Keith sees him.

 

With his hood pulled high and his dark skin covered by a cloak the color of the forest, it would be hard to look anywhere else. A swipe of gold rests on his eyes, painted hastily, the color covering the skin from the top of his brow to the crest of his cheeks. A bow hangs low in his hand, deceivingly slender and fragile in appearance but strong enough to pierce through armor and skin and bone.

 

Keith sprints, pushing past people with no regard, breath stuttering as he feels that familiar tug urging him forward. He welcomes the clench of his chest, the desperate noises rising from his lips, until he is gathered in Lance's arms. Their embrace is short lived but Keith feels it like it lasts for a thousand years, each of his fingers grasping onto Lance's back like a vise, something close to a sob ripping from his throat. Lance shudders against him and whispers something into his ear but it's too fast and the crowd is too crazed; everything is in quick motion.

 

"We have to run!" Lance suddenly shouts, pulling away to grab at Keith's hand.

 

He tugs and they surge forward, ducking and blending into the crowd, keeping their faces low to avoid the guards. Shots ring out, hitting those who Keith knows did nothing wrong.

 

But there's nothing they can do as they reach the edge of the courtyard.

 

Keith spots Allura and Hunk as they finish a killing blow, working in unison to slam the heads of two guards together beneath their strong hands. Behind them, packs of Hunters and Riders spill through the trees and crash into the armed guards in the city. Feet hit the ground as Volivix take to the air, wings spread wide as arrows and spears soar.

 

They run toward the fight and Lance pulls at his sword, ditching the arrows just before a guard swings upon him. But Keith is quick, his rage and relief mixing into a whirlwind of adrenaline. He strikes the guard down with a slash at the neck, sliding between his armor in time for Lance to throw his sword into the chest of another. They fight as if they had never been separated, the feeling so familiar and natural it makes him want to laugh. 

 

"We don't have long!" Allura shouts, glancing at the sky as she skids to a stop beside them.

 

Hunk is close behind, his hands now holding a stolen short handled musket. Lance nods and yanks his sword out of the guard's chest, blood splattering across his face.

 

Hunter's clear a path the best they can, their Volivix aiding with the help of their huge snapping jaws, teeth tinged with flesh and blood. The ground is quickly covered in the deep red as Keith runs, following Allura as she leads the way to the sprawling buildings and homes of those unfortunate enough to live within the city.

 

They take each sharp turn with huffed breaths, silent save for the thudding of their boots and Keith's hisses of pain, his own bare feet catching on rock and broken wood. The city, while worn down and crumbling, is huge. It's practically a maze as people scream and run, fighting taking place at each turn. But eventually they slow enough for Lance to kick at a makeshift wooden wall from within an alley, until they're finally able to burst through to the other side. Keith is relieved at the sight of Pidge waiting for them, her short hair pulled away from their face with a large cloth.

 

  
"The trees here will provide us only enough cover to disappear. If there's any chance we can survive this, we'll have to get to the harbor further East." She explain as Keith arrives, her cheeks swiped with golden war paint similar to that of Lance and the others. They coincide with the green swirls on her skin, the sight almost hypnotic.

 

"I thought the forest was destroyed." Keith huffs, running to catch up with Pidge's quickly retreating form.

 

She's quiet before she turns to look at him, "It is."

 

And Keith wishes he hadn't said anything at all because soon the scorched forest arrives, ash immediately covering his feet. It's vast and desolate as they pass, spanning days worth of miles with only smoldering trunks sticking up to prove that there had been anything there at all.

 

Lance glances behind them, his hand having found Keith's once more, refusing to let go. 

 

Keith feels the ash like soft feathers on his cheeks when the wind picks up and with a sickness growing in his gut, he wonders just how much is from the trees and how much is that of scorched human life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter so far? Editing it was a bitch but I hope you enjoyed it even though it;s, uh, a bit harsh. (If there are any mistakes I'll try to fix them soon.) Also, in case anyone is wondering, the reason the Medallion is a huge deal will be revealed soon along with other revelations. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up asap and as always: thank you to those who comment and leave kudos! It is very much appreciated.


	15. Chapter 15

Keith welcomes the rough texture of sand before taking a large breath full of sea air as they approach the coastal town, so different from their months spent deep within the northern forests. He marvels at how far they've walked and how much time had passed while in the walls of Pidge's home and further still, to his time locked within Lotor's grasp. Part of him yearns for them to find a ship and sail farther south, until the months never grow cold and the water remains a luminescent blue.

 

But then he thinks of Great Leader and Pidge's tense face, of the forest and his brother, and knows that he can't just disappear. It's a sobering thought, the reality of their situation falling back upon his shoulders with a crushing weight. Beside him, keeping stride with dirty fur, is the Volivix that refused to leave him while they stayed in Virin. How the beast found them during their trek, Keith doesn't know. But he welcomes the occasional weight that supports him and the sniffing of a warm nose pushing him onward.

 

Keith's feet are scratched and bruised but quickly warmed, his eyes burning against the harsh midday sun.

 

"We can't stay for long." Allura sighs, utterly exhausted. Her eyes trail to a tavern, the sign creaking from where it hangs upon a slanted roof, "But we can eat."

 

"What if-"

 

"It'll be okay, Hunk. Just for a while."

 

Pidge agrees, her stomach grumbling loud enough to be heard by all of them at once. They shuffle to the tavern, earning no lingering looks from those arriving and leaving, their own haggard appearances equal to the ash and dried blood covering them head to toe. Most attention is drawn to the Volivix and their eyes go wide, no doubt having heard of them but never thinking they'd see one this close. Keith glares, as if any of the sea faring travelers would dare try to take the beast. Though overall the city is rough, feeling the full effect of Lotor's reign and perfect for them to blend into.

 

The tavern is just as hot as the air outside but saved by three rickety ceiling fans, the quiet spinning strong enough to keep Keith's split nerves tame enough. The food isn't much better but none of them complain, their stomachs filling for the first time in days thanks to the gold coins tossed onto the counter by Allura. Where she had kept them, or gotten them from, Keith doesn't know. But the clinking sound is a blessing to their ears, signaling the ease in which they can now rest. They sit at the bar much longer than they should, their aching feet and burning shoulders wilting with each gulp of water and drafty beer.

 

Afterwords, as the sun hangs low and red in the sky, they split up to snag whatever they can from various shops. Keith eagerly accepts a quick wash from a basin behind the tavern, accepting the harsh scrub of a material across his teeth, mint leaves making his tongue tingle. Weeks without anything other than stale breads and lukewarm water make him desperate for something, _anything_ , remotely fresh. Once he's finished, he quickly becomes absorbed by looking for new boots; preferably a pair not chewed by rats or stolen from ships importing rather flamboyant taste.

 

"Keith." Lance says, stopping underneath the awning of a shack.

 

Keith glances at him, noticing the sheen of Lance's eyes almost immediately. He ventures back until his fingers are intermingling with Lance's, latching tight and holding true. Emotion swells in his chest, so sudden he feels his breath become ragged in his throat.

 

"He told me you were dead-"

 

"Never." Lance shakes his head before pulling Keith closer, ignoring the ongoing bustle of the town behind them. He tries for a laugh, "What kind of pirate would I be if I fell to the land?"

 

Keith doesn't laugh, "It was the worst feeling I've ever had. Thinking you left this place..that I would have to continue on in the world without you by my side."

 

"I don't think Zarkon was going to let that happen judging by the _fantastic_ party he had set up for you." He glances down to the scarred molten flesh of Keith's cheek, eyes turning dark with worry.

 

But now Keith does laugh, ignoring the look to lean his forehead on Lance's chest. He should tell him of Lotor, of the obvious spell cast onto his brother, of anything and everything he can remember.

 

Instead, he simply asks, "How did you know where I was?"

 

Lance sighs and lets a warm hand push Keith's thick hair away from the nape of his neck, fingers mere inches from discovering the beginning of a scar, "The Hunter's went wild when the forest started to burn. We couldn't save everyone but they charged ahead anyway and we were practically forced to follow. They knew the Emperor's kingdom rested beyond the mountains and they had no qualms about meeting him there. I had no idea if you were alive but I'd like to think that if you left, if you were _truly_ gone, I would be able to tell. I would feel it here." He raises Keith's hand to his chest and lets it rest.

 

They're quiet, the decimation of the forest a brutal blow. A scar on the land and themselves, seared deep into the bone.

 

"Great Leader," Keith winces, thinking of the powerful woman, "said I have to travel further North. To a place called Altea."

 

Lance leans his head against the wooden building, lids heavy, "We'll be found on foot."

 

"Then we don't walk." Keith says, taking a step back toward the direction of the distant docks, letting Lance's arms fall from his sides, "Why don't we do what we do best?"

 

Keith looks toward the bay, at the dark water and rows of huge wooden ships, their sails fluttering against the breeze. The Volivix that Lance had quickly reminded Keith is named  _Petunia,_  picks her head up when Keith takes another step back, feathers and fur ruffling with curiosity. Lance follows his gaze, blue eyes flashing. Keith watches his smile spread, energized and renewed with each small cresting wave.

 

He reaches forward and grabs Lance's hand, giving a sharp tug, "We sail."

 

 

☼

 

Finding a crew is something Keith had never tried to do considering Lance's own had always been so loyal. He tries not to think of them, of their lives scattered in the ash. But he should have known there was no way the five of them could sail out of the bay on their own and so here they are, well past sundown, promising riches and treasure to those brave enough to join them.

 

"You have a ship?" An older man asks, his beard dirty and gray. His skin is sun-weathered and leathery, exuding experience on the seas.

 

He eyes them, gaze lingering on Keith's scarred cheek and Lance's tattoo, no doubt knowing pirate's when he sees them. He narrows his gaze at Pidge's writhing skin and the Volivix. Allura crosses her arms before shoving at Hunk, as if to say _: look at this old shit._

 

"Sure." Lance smirks, "Biggest ship in the port."

 

The man raises a shaggy brow and sucks at his teeth, glancing between them once more. The tavern is boisterous now, assaulting their ears with each shout and clinking of steins. Smoke from pipes float about the room coating all of them in musk, the only ventilation being the opening and closing of the tavern's doors.

 

They had snagged and traded enough clothes to replace their heavy armor and thick coats, until each of them were sporting thinner shirts and Keith a new pair of boots. Similar to his old pair, the brown leather rests just beneath his knees, keeping his legs safe from rock and salt and sun. There's been no sign of Lotor's soldiers, which should have put them all at ease. But as the moon rises higher in the sky all they can feel is the calm before the storm.

 

And if they're going to weather a storm, they want to do it as far from here as possible.

 

Taking only another moment to decide, the man finally nods in agreement.

 

"That's twenty." Allura says, wiping at a drop of sweat on her brow.

 

The grime and gore had washed off of them the best it could and Keith eagerly took a dip into the ocean too, letting a form of water wash at his skin for a second time that day. The lingering scent of salt and fish seems pleasant compared to how he'd smelled for the last few weeks.

 

He pushes up the sleeves of his shirt, great for keeping the harsh rays of the sun from scorching his skin but a confined hell in small places like this.

 

"That was the easy part." Lance sighs, watching his new crew as they chatter and slug back drinks, "Now we just have to get that damn ship."

 

"And how do you plan-"

 

Lance quickly interrupts Keith, "Just get everyone on board and start for the mouth of the bay."

 

☼

 

It's been two hours and Keith hasn't seen even a hint of Lance's whereabouts. The new crew has crept up the dock one by one, careful to look like any other wandering drunk. Keith decided to go last, his anxious gaze flickering about the docks as if Lance would suddenly be there to beckon him forward. The crew, after taking orders from Allura, are now nothing but vague shadows heading below deck.

 

"Shit." Keith whispers as he finally shuffles forward, trying to relax his shoulders as Petunia trots beside him, "Shit, shit, _shit_."

 

The sails on the ship loosen in heavy swoops. He speeds up, wishing his boots weren't so loud against the planks of the dock.

 

"Get on with it!" Allura hisses, grabbing his arm to pull him aboard the moment he's close enough.

 

Hunk raises the anchor out of the water with large tugs, careful to keep it from hitting the side of the ship. The whole process is slow, done as silently as possible and it's moe than enough to set them all on edge.

 

"Those winged beasts are probably already halfway here by now. And this ship _definitely_ belongs to someone important, if we're seen-" Hunk starts, thick brows drawing close in thought. 

 

He wraps the rope for the anchor multiple times, tying it with skilled fingers, deft and practiced. 

 

"Then we fight." Keith says, touching the hilt of his stolen sword.

 

He remembers how dull it is and scowls.

 

"Lance has a plan." Allura says, "We won't get caught."

 

Pidge runs a hand through her hair, "But-"

 

Pidge is cut off, her eyes widening at the burst of light on the edge of the city. Keith turns just in time to see shadowed fragments of broken wood flying against the distant explosion, the flare of golden and red light illuminating the roof of each shack between them. Keith straightens quickly following the delayed boom, watching as dark billowing smoke rises quick into the air.

 

"We have to go!" Allura jumps into action, calling to the crew to ready the sails, "We have to go now!"

 

"What about Lance?" Keith shouts, striding to the steps leading to the helm, "I won't leave without him!"

 

"If these people have any sense, they'll have figured out it's a diversion _sooner_ rather than later. We're leaving!" She softens her tone, meeting Keith's eyes with fierce belief, "He'll find us."

 

Keith grimaces but ultimately nods, throat closing tight before he pushes past her to take control of the wheel. He grips the pegs, the wood a strange feeling beneath his hands. It's been months since he's sailed and never has he tried to steer a ship like this; one bound to the sea, dark wood all that rests between them and the choppy waves. But the wind catches the sails just the same when he starts to turn and it's comforting to listen to the slosh of water as they start to sail with speed.

 

The mouth of the bay approaches quickly, the two ledges of rock towering above them creating a passageway from sea to land. Keith can hear shouts but whether they're from the distant explosion or the docks, he isn't sure.

 

The crew pulls at the sails, keeping them on par with the breeze but Keith can't focus on them. He can barely focus on anything, his worry building up to it's own combustion; the need for Lance's confirmed safety sizzling like a lit match.

 

Hunk bounds up the helm, tightening the cloth wrapped around his head, "Can you make it?" He looks a bit panicked, his large hands holding onto the closest rail.

 

"I can make it." Keith says, tightening his grip on the wheel.

 

Allura watches from below, her light hair whipping around her face, "Keith! It's a tight fit, are you-"

 

"I can make it!" He repeats, knowing that if someone got the ship _in_ , he can get it _out_.

 

And he does, sliding past the outcrop of rock by mere inches. The crew shouts, letting the ropes go so that the wind can catch the sails and thrust them forward.

 

Keith feels his breath leave him, a gasp breaking free before he can smother it at the sight of the open ocean. It's choppy and darker than that of the water further south but dammit, it's the _ocean_.

 

He motions for Hunk to take the wheel, if only for a short while, before leaping down the steps. Allura ruffles his hair and smiles, relief dancing bright in her eyes. But Keith can't feel true relief, not yet. And seconds later, she realizes it.

 

"He has a plan, Keith." She grabs hold of his shoulder and squeezes tight, "It's best to trust that it worked."

 

"You said that already." Keith pulls a loose piece of fabric tied to the railing of the ship and lifts his hair until it rests off of his shoulders. The sea breeze is cool against his exposed skin, "But he never told _us_ his plan. How do we know he succeeded? How can you tell if-"

 

There's a splash behind them, like water hitting wood and when Keith turns he can confirm that's exactly what it is. But more than that, there's Lance, dripping wet but fully alive. Keith throws himself forward, knocking into him with little care for the dampness now seeping into his own clothes.

 

"I won't worry about you questioning my ability to plan," Lance teases, "but only because we'll have much bigger problems flying toward us quicker than we'd hoped." He looks at Allura, "I heard the townspeople whispering. Traveler's have seen wings in the sky only a few miles from the mountains."

 

Keith wilts even as Lance holds him closer, "Fuckin' great. There's always something."

 

Lance lets out a breathy laugh, "I expect nothing less."

 

And then he is pulling away, letting his fingers trail against the skin peeking from Keith's risen shirt, before facing his new crew. Keith can see the regret flash on his face, full of sorrow for those lost before he replaces it with fierce determination.

 

"Feeling like old times yet?" Hunk whispers to Keith, watching Lance as he saunters around the crew, eyeing each of them one by one.

 

"There's no way we can out-sail _dragons_." Keith mutters.

 

Allura saunters up on the other side of him and places her arm on his shoulder, "There's always a first time for everything."

 

Keith folds his arms, noticing Pidge sitting across the deck, her feet dangling from her perch on the bow.

 

"...everyone wants treasure." Lance says, continuing a speech that Keith had missed the beginning of, "But there's no better treasure than that fought for. Than that won."

 

The crew grunts and nods, a mismatched group of people, eager to answer the call of the sea.

 

"Then we'll fight! Because if we don't, those beasts will try to claim the ocean. They'll take our riches and our ships and our home." Lance smirks, "And water can _never_ burn."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter but the next is longer :) 
> 
> Originally I wanted Keith to create the diversion but for some reason the thought of Lance blowing shit up and climbing onto his stolen ship just worked better in my head lol. Sorry for any mistakes, this chapter was a bit rough for me to edit because I didn't like how some things flowed :\


	16. Chapter 16

They don't waste much time after Lance gives orders to the crew before retreating into the captain's quarters beneath the helm.

 

Lance breathes it in, "It's not the Flag. But it'll do."

 

They go through the clothes quickly and separate the riches equally, finding places to hide them in case a wandering crew member decides to nose around. There are several lanterns placed throughout the room, all unlit, but Keith knows they'll be melted to the quick before too long. Lance is already lighting one, sniffing at the deep red wax.

 

"We have to talk." Keith says, laying back onto the bed.

 

He sinks in, closing his eyes at the cool spread against his shoulder blades. When was the last time he'd felt such soft sheets?

 

"About?"

 

"Everything." Keith trails his hands beside him, feeling the fluff of the quilt beneath, knowing it's made of fine material.

 

Lance moves to another candle, waiting for Keith to elaborate.

 

And he does, taking his time to test the truths out loud.

 

Druids.

 

Lotor.

 

_Prince._

 

"He's lying." Keith turns, letting his head rest on his forearm, "He was trying to get under my skin. To confuse me. Trick me."

 

"And if he's not?"

 

Keith sits up, a fast current of indignation striking into his limbs, "He is."

 

"Keith-"

 

"He is!" He huffs, gripping the sheets tight.

 

Lance stares at him for a moment, waiting until Keith has released his hold on the bed before moving on to the next candle.

 

Keith puts his hand in his lap and picks at his nails, urging his frustration to fade.

 

"Are you taking this long to come to bed on purpose?" He finally asks, wondering how he could possibly lash out at Lance when he just got him back.

 

But he doesn't think about it long, not when Lance is turning to him with a face so open Keith swears he could read each emotion the second it passes.

 

"Come here?" Lance asks, motioning for Keith to stand.

 

Keith raises a brow but agrees, taking the few steps he needs to grab Lance's outstretched hand. Both of their palms are rough, calluses and scars from pulling rope and wielding weapons littering the flesh like the freckles that run along their skin. But they latch tight, until their fingers have no space left between them and Keith allows himself to be guided close. Lance rests his forehead on Keith's and closes his eyes before wrapping his arms around his waist.

 

"Are we about to dance?" Keith asks, confused as to why Lance would choose to keep standing over the soft temptation of bed.

 

"I just need you here. Prince or no prince, I need you close. Always." Lance admits, sounding serious.

 

Lance releases a deep breath as if he'd been holding it in for months and could only now feel safe enough to let it out. Keith tenses for just a moment when warm fingers trail beneath his shirt, touching the beginning of his scars. Knowing they're raised and brutish, he almost chooses to shy away.

 

But Lance presses his palms flat and opens his eyes, looking at Keith in desperation. So, Keith raises his arms and flings his shirt away, letting Lance turn him until his eyes can find the expanse of his back. Lance's breath catches in his throat and the touches become feather soft, running the length of each slash with no fear or disgust. And when lips find the largest one dug deep between Keith's shoulder blades, he feels his entire body _melt_. His own breath is released in a stutter, teeth biting at his bottom lip to keep in a noise that he isn't sure will be a sob or a whine.

 

"Does it hurt?" Lance whispers.

 

Keith clears his throat but it breaks anyway, "Not anymore."

 

Tears spring into his eyes at the soft feel of travelling breath on his skin, healing and refreshing as rain.

 

"Look at me." Lance urges and Keith is quick to turn, his own eyes yearning for everything the captain can possibly give.

 

Lance presses a new kiss to the scar on Keith's cheek, the large X no longer pulsing with pain but full of memories he knows he can never wash away. But Lance tries to help, his lashes brushing against the crest of Keith's cheek before he pulls back, face flushed.

 

Keith glances down, finally noticing the chain resting against Lance's chest. He knows his Medallion hangs at the end but for once he's not desperate to touch it; to make sure it's truly there. Instead, he is closing his eyes and letting out a hum as he runs his fingers up Lance's shoulders, traveling to the hair at the nape of his neck. He brushes the pads of his fingertips through, feeling each strand as if for the first time.

 

He supposes this is what they needed; no rush, no pull or tug. Just rest, like the brush of water on the beach, each inch of foam finding its permanent place on the sand.

 

Lance leads him to the bed and takes his own shirt off before pressing Keith further into the sheets, breath heavy as their bare flesh meets for the first time in weeks. Keith reaches up and brushes a few brown strands behind Lance's ear, chuckling when they simply fall back against his temple and cheek, blue eyes creasing from a soft smile.

 

And for a moment, there is peace.

 

They aren't running or fighting and there's no threat outside of their door. The fearsome pirate captain has been replaced by someone so full of love, Keith fears he'll be consumed by it.

 

 _Then again,_ Keith thinks, _I wouldn't mind that._

 

 

☼

 

"Pidge." Keith's voice is quiet when he takes a seat beside her on the bow, legs danging from the scuffed wood of the deck.

 

She jumps and turns to him, vines twisting along her arms before coming to settle. Keith can't tell if she looks at him in disdain, if she blames the burning of Virin solely on him-

 

It hurts him more than anything, to think that she now hates him.

 

"It's my favorite time of the day." Pidge clears her throat and nods toward the sky, "The colors are never this vibrant in the forest."

 

Keith nods, "In the desert the colors were just as deep but a bit more hazy. The heat waves and dunes cast more shadows."

 

"Yeah?" She kicks her feet through the air, "Was it very hot?"

 

"Extremely."

 

"Do you miss it?" She looks to him again, voice cracking in an emotion that sits deep within her chest, "I miss Virin. I miss Great Leader and my friends and my family."

 

"Pidge, I-" Keith winces and pulls at his fingers, feeling a bit of ocean spray reach his bare toes, "I never meant for anything like this to happen. Great Leader, she warned me and I didn't listen even though I should have but leaving him, I just _couldn't_ -"

 

"Keith, shut up." Pidge pushes her shoulder into his own, "If you wouldn't have tried to get to Lance, he'd have burnt the forest down himself."

 

He scoffs but she raises a thick brow and continues, "He went wild, Keith. One second you were there and the next you were gone, whisked away by Great Leader. Soldiers fell around him like...like they were _nothing_. Each hunter that passed, he would grab onto them and question them, searching for you in every way he knew how."

 

"Well," Keith tries to hide his face, the flush on his neck feeling too hot much too quick, "I'm still sorry. Incredibly sorry. If I wouldn't have lead Lotor there-"

 

"He would have come eventually, anyway." She winces, "Even if his father started the plans to invade, I'm sure Lotor would have happily finished them."

 

The words ring true and they both know it. Lance had mentioned the new Emperor in passing earlier that day and Keith watched Pidge tense, eyes flashing with something livid. 

 

Keith furrows his brows, "Where's your brother?"

 

Pidge stiffens, "I've told you before. Went out on a scouting mission, never came back."

 

"No, Pidge." Keith shakes his head and turns to her, "Your brother was in the castle. We...we shared a cell."

 

Her breath begins to quicken but Keith doesn't stop, not until the entire story is out of him. Not until her brother's bravery is given long deserved recognition.

 

"So we got him out." Keith says it like a truth, "I'm not sure where he could be but he's free now. He's free to run."

 

Pidge swallows and her eyes shine, vine marks seeming to shudder against her skin, "If he's alive, he'll find me. He promised that he'd always find his way back. I won't regret my decision to come with you all, to see whatever this is to the end. But...but he'll find me. I know it."

 

Her words hold finality and faith and Keith fears that if he were to argue, she'd quicker throw him overboard than accept any other answer to her brother's current vacancy.

 

So, Keith nods. And before he knows it, a fluff of brown hair is resting on his shoulder, Pidge's thin arm coming to wrap around his own.

 

The sun sets with a calm flash and they stay sitting long after it's gone, weight lifting from their shoulders with each star that sprouts in the sky. And Keith, once friendless and without the love of anyone other than his brother, never wants these moments to end.

 

 

☼

 

On the third day, Keith wakes with the rising sun just as it peaks on the horizon.

 

Shuffling away from their bed, having taken great care to place a gentle peck on Lance's forehead, he quickly makes his way to the deck, stepping over Petunia with an amused smile. The wooden planks creak beneath his bare feet, certain pieces older and more worn than others. The sunrise is slow, the edges creating soft beams across the lightening sky. Keith had missed it more than he thought he could.

 

He glances back at the cabin door, content settling in his body from the previous hours. For a moment, he thinks that maybe he should return to the bed and sleep some more, until his body is sluggish from rest and Lance's gentle caresses. But the air is cool against his skin, the salty tinge resting against his hair and shirt to mingle with the scent of spices and blown out candle flame and something purely _Lance_ , so he decides against it. Running a hand against the love bites on his neck, all he can do is sigh before leaning his elbows on the railing of the ship, listening to the crash of waves below.

 

"You're awake early."

 

Keith turns to see Allura coming close, her braided hair falling over one shoulder as she places a gun holster on the side of her hip.

 

"I didn't want to miss the sunrise."

 

She nods, looking at the horizon herself, "Have you talked to him?" She wonders aloud, "About what...what happened to you after you were taken?"

 

He furrows his brows but nods, "We've talked for hours. He's there when I wake stuck in my memories."

 

"Good." She sighs.

 

"Do you know?" He suddenly asks, watching the way her jaw clenches.

 

As if she were hiding a secret; as if she knew his secrets.

 

"It's not my place to bring it up."

 

"The rider-" Keith starts, forcing the words out until they're practically spilling, "he's my brother. Or he was. I don't really understand what's happened to him."

 

She's quiet for a moment, the tips of her fingers drumming against the rail, "I figured as much."

 

"You did?"

 

"Hunk and I had our suspicions." She plays with the end of her braid, "I mean, you screamed his name like someone broken. The first time you saw him, you had already _known_ him."

 

"There's still a lot I don't know." He grimaces.

 

She looks to him and although he talked to Lance, he finds it just as easy to repeat things to her now. And like Lance, she takes it all in stride until he's finished, lips dry and eyes wide.

 

"Now we have to go North."

 

She groans, "Of course we do."

 

He smirks, "Great Leader said I have to find the druids of Altea. She said they would help me figure all of this out-"

 

"Altea?" Allura interrupts, voice higher than he's ever heard it. As if in shock; as if she were offended.

 

Keith nods, "That's-"

 

"Then we're going the wrong way."

 

"What?"

 

" _We're going the wrong way_." She pulls at his arm, as if she could sling him up to the wheel so that he could turn the ship around himself.

 

"How do you know?"

 

"Because," She shakes her head like she'd decided fast to tell the truth, "Altea is my home."

 

Keith is taken aback, suddenly wishing he'd taken the time to ask her about her past before relaying all of his, "Are you sure?"

 

"Of _course_ I'm sure!" She growls, "Great Leader must have been given false information. Altea doesn't rest in a place easily found, in northern waters. It's hidden away, in the southern bound cliffs. But I can get us there."

 

He nods quickly, "Then we have to move."

 

Turning, Keith fully intends to pull Lance from his sleep and the crew from their own, eager to have Allura lead them in the right direction. Better than any compass or map, she can blaze a path quicker and safer than anyone else.

 

Of course, Keith should have expected trouble to find them first.

 

Noises like distant thunder, loud but clipped, reach his ears before he can take even one step toward Lance. It's all too familiar and it sends a spike of pain down his back, as if each scar were coming alive with renewed fervor.

 

"No." Allura shakes her head, for once sounding just as panicked as Keith suddenly felt.

 

 _"Go!"_ He shouts, pushing at her shoulder to get below deck, "Wake everyone!"

 

He starts for Lance's door, reaching for the handle in record time.

 

But the captain is already awake and he is vicious, the spitting image of a god of the sea disrupted. He steps around Keith, letting the tips of his fingers brush against his own, before making his way to the helm.

 

 

☼

 

  
The crew moves quickly, gathering weapons and hauling gunpowder to the cannons that reside below deck. Keith helps, pushing a few barrels with Hunk and Pidge until someone takes them down the steps.

 

Lance has turned the ship, ever so fearless, to face Shiro head on. The two dragons fly high and Keith fears Shiro will simply strike them down from that height alone, not even giving them a chance at retaliation.

 

The dragons are just as large as he remembers, the expanse of their leathery wings casting dark shadows across the waves as if storm clouds resided beneath. Keith can spot Shiro and the flickering purple within his dark dragon's scales, like electricity building; growing and charging and waiting for release.

 

They don't stand a chance.

 

He clenches his fists, never taking his eyes from his brother- who in turn continues to stare back.

 

"Load the cannons! Brace the sails on port side!" Lance shouts, his eyes building their own glow as if he were planning to rival the onslaught of dragon-fire all by himself.

 

"Load!" Hunk repeats, shouting down the stairs and into the ship.

 

Shiro rears back and his dragon climbs higher, the pulse of its wings pushing weight onto their heads and shoulders. But Keith won't fall, he refuses to move even as the second dragon obeys the wave of Shiro's gloved hand. It swoops lower and lower, until the massive claws on the tips of its wings brush against the churning waves. It hovers, sizing them up; the wingspan so gargantuan that it completely overtakes the length of the ship. Reptilian eyes flicker about, glancing over Keith, the yellow orb surrounding a cat-like crescent in the middle. For a moment, Keith fears that the beast recognizes him. That it targets him directly, remembering the fight in Ilarath and the feel of Keith trying to hold onto it's tail.

 

Petunia jumps in front of him, fur bristling and feathers standing on end, her huge canine's ready to snap and tear and consume in his defense.

 

"Keith!" Lance shouts, panicked.

 

But Keith can't move, his limbs are frozen in place as he hears the grumbling from deep within the dragon. It's similar to a growl but deeper still, moving from the depths of it's stomach and upward, to nestle in the base of the throat. He knows what's coming but he's tired of running and he's tired of hoping his brother will snap out of it; that he will call the beasts off or turn them on the Emperor himself. Instead, Shiro stays high, away from the toiling waves and assault of fire threatening to be released at any moment.

 

Lance leaves the wheel to Allura and pushes Pidge to stay close to her before flying down the steps, his cloak whipping behind him with a harsh gust of wind. He grabs at Keith's arm and pulls out his own sword, as if he could slice the dragon to pieces.

 

"Lance." Pidge yanks on Lance's sleeve, having stubbornly followed close at his heels, "There's something in the water!"

 

"What?" Lance is trying to pull both of them back but his eyes flick to the open ocean anyway, the glow of his iris's starting to dim with worry.

 

He's too distracted to focus on building any kind of power.

 

"There's something in the _water!"_ Pidge shouts, pointing just past the dragon.

 

But they don't have to search long because in the next instant the water explodes. Shiro's dragon screeches and surges upward, piercing at their eardrums like knives to the flesh. Keith holds his palms to his temples, breath leaving him in shallow pants as the huge jaws of the risen sea serpent erupts to sink it's fanged teeth into the wing of the dragon. It rips and tears, the cracking of bone sharp against the air.

 

The dragon roars, pushing them back from the force of it but it's already begun to submerge. The serpent's tail, reminiscent of the beast from the cove, wraps around the dragon's body like a coiling snake. Their struggle rocks the ship and Pidge falls, their shout of surprise lost to the noise of the fight. Fire finally erupts from the dragon's throat but it is faulty from panic, the stream of heat hitting the top of the water before quickly singeing away.

 

Lance sheathes his sword before shouting to the crew to release the cannons, to aim at Shiro from his perch beneath the sun. He realizes it too late and the blast of the first cannon booms, a whistle of air and smoke leading the way to impact. It clips the dragon's leg and Keith watches a spurt of blood spray into the sky, dark and vibrant before the dragon drops a few harsh feet. It's too wounded to do anything but flee, its shrieks of pain haunting as they echo across the ocean. The cannon's continue in earnest, firing at will and with sharp speed until Shiro is retreating in quick paces. Keith spots him leering at the dragon in the water, at it's slowing attempts of escape, until it is ultimately pulled beneath the waves like a loose anchor. Keith runs to the rail and leans over, watching the rise of bubbles and spreading dark pool of blood.

 

When he turns, Shiro is gone. 

 

Everyone is shocked, one by one gathering against the side of the ship to try and spot the drowned beast and its slimy counterpart. But just as Shiro, they have completely disappeared. Keith pushes away from the ledge and melts against the rail, his entire body shaking. Petunia rubs against his side, nose pushing at his hands but Keith can't do anything other than stare at Pidge, her body sprawled on the deck; arms and legs spread wide.

 

"That-" Pidge deadpans, her face emotionless save for the wideness of her eyes, "was some _good_ fuckin' luck."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip red dragon
> 
> Also, i'm debating adding a major character death but.....i'm not sure if I will lmao help


	17. Chapter 17

 

☼

 

Allura flattens the edges of a large map they found within the captain's desk, making sure the tips stay down with the help of heavy silver paperweights. She runs her fingers over red and black quill markings, brushing beyond the northern forests and distant coastlines, until her sight rests on open ocean.

 

"There."

 

"Um-" Pidge raises an eyebrow, "I thought you said Altea rests in cliffs."

 

Allura nods, tapping the spot on the map for Hunk to draw a circle, "It does. But I also said that it's _hidden_."

 

"How long will it take?" Keith asks, leaning over the desk.

 

Lance slams down a tiny figurine of a ship before using his own finger to push it against the parchment as if it were sailing. Keith watches, listening to the scratch of paper against metal before it finally stops.

 

"Weeks."

 

"Do we have weeks?" Hunk asks, fiddling with a crystalline compass.

 

It's made for decoration but he's found it easy to hold, sleek enough to rest in his wide palms.

 

Lance hums,"Probably not."

 

"There could be another way." Allura rests her hands on her hips, "A quicker way."

 

"You don't sound too sure about that." Keith glances up at her.

 

She sighs and shakes her head, "I'm _not_ sure. All I can go on are my memories but," She raises a shoulder, "it's worth a shot."

 

"Will it be dangerous?" Pidge asks.

 

"Dangerous?" Lance plucks the metal ship up in his fingers, as if debating. He tosses it and Keith is drawn in, watching the way it spins before landing solidly in Lance's palm, "I hope so."

 

☼

 

"Allura's never talked about her home much." Lance says several nights later, his head resting on Keith's bare stomach.

 

His hair is soft and warm from a day spent beneath the sun. Keith likes to run his hands through it, to feel it slip against the lines on his palm before falling against the dark skin of Lance's neck. He runs the pads of his fingers over scars and the ink of his tattoo, tracing the edge of it like it were made as fragile as a petal. He'd seen it many times before, beneath the glare of sunlight and against the backdrop of the forest, rippling with muscle when swinging sword and gun and spear. Now it simply sits, resting against the flickering candlelight and his own hand. When Keith finally saw the expanse of it trailing down his back so long ago, he had immediately tried to get closer.

 

 _It's the constellation of wayward sailors. It_   _promises to keep us on course, to find our way home._ Lance had explained,  _My father had the same one, though it was smaller and resting just behind his ear._

 

"Where did you meet her?" Keith asks, tearing his eyes away from the tattoo.

 

"Well," Lance smirks, "It's more like _she_ found _me_."

 

Keith waits, watching the flickering lights play against Lance's lashes. They're long and tend to fall against his cheeks when he shuts his eyes, always appearing feather soft whether in a forest or a fight or a bedroom. Keith smiles, thinking Lance sometimes resembles more of a doe than any fearsome sea creature.

 

He wouldn't tell him that, of course. But he enjoys his ability to think it, to find the softest parts of the captain and keep them secret; to selfishly hold them all to himself.

 

Lance shifts, turning onto his side to prop his head upon his palm, "I was in trouble, actually."

 

"I'm not surprised."

 

He narrows his eyes, "Good."

 

"Keep going." Keith brushes away the chance to banter, instead choosing to lean his head against the wall.

 

The ship rocks like the ocean is trying to lull them to sleep. It presses on Keith's eyelids, a quiet beckoning that he refuses to give in to.

 

"I was in a port near the reefs of Laivea, trying to gather supplies. But there was a tavern," He chuckles, a low sound, "and there was rum-"

 

"There's always rum."

 

"Of _course_ there's always rum, Keith." He flicks his nose, laughing when it scrunches, "So eventually there's trouble and eventually _I'm_ the one in trouble. But who comes to my rescue? Pistols blazing and hair swinging about, Allura swooped in like a damn wraith. I'd never seen anyone fight like that, especially those in my own bloody crew."

 

"Did you get the supplies?"

 

"'Course we got the supplies." He scoffs, dropping his hand so that he can lay his head against Keith's stomach again, "I nearly had a noose around my neck but we took what we could and left before they could blink. Allura was more than happy to join me after all of that. It seemed she was running from something, or someone, though I'd never bothered to ask. Better she come to me than I birage her for answers. Instead, I simply tried to woo her."

 

Keith rolls his eyes, "That must have gone brilliantly."

 

"Definitely not." Lance smiles against his stomach, "She wanted to send me to the underworld on many occasions, straight to the cells of Halerati." 

 

"You've been with each other a long time." Keith sinks lower in the bed with an amused sigh, "Hunk, too. And Pidge."

 

Lance hums in agreement, "Allura doesn't talk much of her home and Hunk only gives bits and pieces when taking a drink." Lance shrugs, "But everyone deserves their secrets. And it's up to us whether or not we tell them."

 

"Is that a hint?"

 

"If you want it to be." Lance shrugs, his blinks slowing; eyelids drooping. A kiss is placed to Keith's hip, suggestive enough to send a pulse of heat into Keith's guts.

 

Keith huffs and pushes Lance's head away so he can roll over, until he's staring at the wall, "You always talk like a puzzle."

 

Lance laughs and throws an arm around his waist, settling in close. He brings the scent of the breeze and the sea, letting it wrap around them and settle like a new layer of blanket; soft and warm and secure.

 

Lips are pressed to the back of Keith's neck, trailing along the beginning of a thick scar, before finding their way up again. Keith shudders and pushes a leg back until he can settle further against Lance, wanting nothing more than to remain as close as possible.

 

"I adore you." Lance whispers in his ear, sending a tingle running the length of Keith's spine, "I love you."

 

Keith's breath stutters and he turns his head, holding tight to Lance's hand on his chest. He studies Lance's face before their lips meet, soft and sure. And before Lance can say anything else, Keith turns them until he's on top, straddling his hips with strong thighs.

 

"I love you." Keith finally replies, bringing his hands to either side of Lance's face.

 

And when their lips meet again, it is full of heat.

 

☼

  
"When we said dangerous," Pidge huffs, holding onto Keith's arm for support, "I didn't think it meant _this!_ "

 

"This isn't-" Keith grunts, wrapping the rope around his wrist before pulling taught, "even that bad!"

 

He laughs, feeling the rush of the storm slash against his cheeks like shards of glass. It stings but he doesn't care; not when it's the first _real_ storm of the season. Pidge coughs, no doubt having swallowed copious amounts of seawater, before letting out a scream of frustration. She pulls herself past Keith using the rope, pushing against the wind before grabbing onto another crew member for leverage.

 

Keith wonders if Lance only gave Pidge the orders to check the knots on the ropes just to see her curse and shout.

 

The sea is dark as the sun rises, streaks of red overtaking any hint of orange or blue or violet.

 

 _Red sky at night,_ Lance had mumbled the night before, _sailors delight._

 

_Red sky in morning, sailor's warning._

 

Waves crest higher than Keith remembers they could, rocking the huge ship as if they're on a string, as if they're balancing on bare feet. They had awoken to the crashing of water onto the deck and Keith whipped the door open only to receive a great splash to the face. He could still hear Lance's laughter only now it's further up, flowing from where he stands at the helm, hands gripping tight to the wooden pegs. Allura stands close by, her hair flat against her head and face, the cause of Lance's boisterous chortling. But as the morning wears on, the waves only get higher and Keith knows that they have to be careful.

 

"Hold!" Lance shouts, gaze sweeping along the deck until he can spot Keith.

 

Their eyes catch and Keith pulls the rope tighter, leaning his body in time with the wind. The ship tilts and Keith's fingers release just enough to allow the sail to fault and make him slip. He looks away from Lance and tries to focus, brows drawing close together against the pelting rain.

 

Pidge finds her way back to him until her smaller hands are gripping and pulling, trying to be of more use.

 

"Not to _dampen_ the _mood_ ," She huffs, "but I think we're gonna capsize."

 

Keith scoffs, leaning forward when the ship crests another wave before dipping down as if it were trying to nosedive to the bottom of the ocean.

 

"You don't believe me?" Pidge shouts, grabbing at Keith's wrist, "Then believe that!"

 

He doesn't have to look far, nor hard, because whether Pidge had pointed it out or not he would have seen it eventually. They all would.

 

"Lance!" He tries to shout but just like everyone storm, it's almost impossible to be heard over the crashing of thunder from the main deck.

 

Pidge snatches the rope from his hand, "I can handle this!"

 

He doesn't doubt her, not for a second, but he _does_ know the power of the wind. The power of the rain and waves and overall frailty of the human body; his included. But Pidge isn't looking at him when her legs swing up to brace against the side of a bolted crate, giving her enough leverage to hold the rope steady and tight. So, without another moment to waste, Keith wishes her luck and sprints toward the stairs.

 

"Lance!" He calls again, watching as the crest climbs higher and higher into the sky.

 

Allura rushes past him but doesn't say anything, her boots taking the stairs two at a time until she's flying toward the rest of the crew to help. Keith looks back to Lance, wondering if he was planning to simply ignore the swelling wave and hope the ship was made well enough to handle it. The oak is sturdy, compact, with sails tailored by hands skilled from years of craft.

 

But to beat this?

 

Keith doesn't think even they're so lucky.

 

He strides to Lance, planning to take the wheel, to do something. _Anything_. But he doesn't have to steal it away at all, instead finding it easy to replace Lance's hands with his own, the captain's nod full of reassurance. It's quick but Keith can already see the glow building, like the dawn of a sunnier day, full of so much blue and celestial shine that he isn't sure how Lance can possibly handle it. He doesn't have time to ponder or even ask for confirmation that he's alright before Lance is using the ropes to climb and pull himself up the railing far above the wheel; far above Keith and the cabin and the toiling waves. He holds on, the slick of his boots sliding every few seconds, giving up inches to the rain.

 

Keith can only glance up periodically, the push and pull of the wheel fighting to lose control, to toss him aside and snatch the ship to the depths.

 

If Keith weren't here, if he weren't seeing it himself, he would call the wave a trick. A false image to sun-dazed men and women who have had too much rum and not enough water. But he can feel the sprinkles of new liquid against his cheeks, so different from the pelting rain. With a sharp look up, Keith feels his breath halt in his lungs.

 

It's as if someone else were rising the wave now, looking for all the world like Lance had betrayed them. His arms are raised to bring the wave _forward_ and not back, like Keith assumed he would do. A flash of lightning snaps overhead, close enough to set Keith's veins ablaze; for his mind to trick him into thinking he's once again been struck.

 

And then he hears it, deeper and fuller than the explosion at the docks; louder than any burst of thunder can be. Light flares behind him and he turns, watching as the gargantuan wave shutters and splits like a giant were making its way through. It rises higher still, cresting over them like twin mountains; like those that surrounded Virin. But it never crashes down upon them, not like it would have if they'd tried to sail straight through it. Keith tilts his head up, watching as it flows on either side of them, as slow as a drifting cloud. For a moment, the rain is shielded away and the only water that touches them is that of mist; light and cool against their hair.

 

Then it _is_ crashing down, making the ship tilt dangerously from one side to the other. It's loud and Keith holds tight to the pegs to keep from falling over completely. He turns back to Lance, eager to catch another glimpse of the blue light filtering from his raised hands before it is gone. He's eager to catch the captain wild, hair flying about his face; eyes burning and lips spreading into a dangerous smile.

 

But when Keith spots him, Lance is no longer shining and he _definitely_ isn't grinning. Instead, he looks at Keith only for a moment. He seems dazed, frazzled and in over his head at the power he's had to exert. 

 

And then he is slipping. 

 

He falls back, off of the railing and into the open air, before his crash is blending into the waves hitting the side of the ship below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Halerati is the Goddess of Death and the Underworld in the Pantheon of Onos, a polytheistic religion spread widely throughout most of the southern oceans/islands. My world has many religions even if most people know of the crystals, though Pidge's people had been the most educated on them and considered them part of the universe itself; they personally believe in no set deities like many others spread throughout the world. *** 
> 
> So, after some brainstorming and reading comments, I most likely will _not_ go with the main character death route. It was a possibility but eh, there will be other deaths, no need to add more lol. 
> 
> I LOVE reading all of your comments and I do try to reply eventually but just know I see them all and I seriously appreciate them. Re-uploading/writing this story is honestly pretty comforting to me when I need to get away from real life, so I'm glad you're all enjoying it too. 
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO, I got a new fish and I was wondering if anyone had any good ideas for a name since I literally can't come up with anything??? He's blue and there's purple around the start of his tail but the rest of the tail is bright red.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes!

  
It's one thing to fight in the air, another to fight on land and another to fight on the sea.

 

But to actually _fight_ the sea, to feel the waves push and pull and dunk you beneath them is something Keith wishes he could have prepared for. The water is cold and seeping into his body like traveling vine, threatening to twist him up until he sinks like an anchor. He pushes forward, eyes stinging against the salt as he dives deeper, stretching his hand to grab at whatever piece of Lance that he possibly can.

 

At least in the desert you could have something solid to help you win against the odds.

 

Down here, all he can do is kick, the decision to rip off his heavy boots before diving proving to be a good one. And only now that he's lower, supple to the tossing and turning of the waves above his head, can he truly see Lance.

 

His cloak billows around him like it wants to wrap him up, to keep him shrouded and safe from the storm. The glint of Keith's medallion floats just above his neck, the red flash hitting Keith's eyes similar to a lighthouse leading wayward ships to the shore. He feels his lungs begin to catch aflame but he doesn't stop, not until his fingers are closing around Lance's arm; not until he can gather him close and fight his way back up. He kicks and uses one arm to tear at the water, eyes stinging from the salt, nose burning from the trickles that find their way inside.

 

A flash of lightning turns the water an electric blue, the shadow of the ship looming above undulating in dark shadow. Keith follows it, head growing foggy and dizzy, fingers cramping from where he holds Lance just beneath his left arm. His fingers reach for the surface, veins rising to show against his temples and neck, until he finally feels open air against his skin. Ocean water cascades over Keith's head and he takes a gasping breath, his stomach turning with brine.

 

The crew is screaming when Keith's ears stop ringing, his coughing and swallowing so violent he's certain his body is simply sloshing full of the salty water. A rope is thrown, a circular object attached at the end and he grabs on before it can slip away. Hunk and a few others start to pull, bringing them closer and closer until Keith can climb with all of the strength he has left within his body. The moment they're within reach Allura grabs for Lance, lifting him up the towering side of the ship and onto the deck with a one great heave. Keith follows, the shivering of his body making his bones rattle and ache.

 

He shoves people away until he can see Allura laying Lance on his side, trying to find a pulse on the base of his neck.

 

"Allura?" Keith coughs, wincing at the burn in his nose and throat.

 

She orders the crew to get back to the sails, cursing as the ship tilts further than it should before finally finding Keith's panicked face. Though, if anything, she looks just as shocked. Almost _lost_ in the wake of what her fingers could not feel.

 

Keith falters, something sharp hitting the hollow of his chest moments before he pushes her aside.

 

He forces Lance to his back and lowers his head, listening for a pulse, for the beating of his heart. With shaking fingers, he laces them upon Lance's chest, moving the medallion only slightly before starting to push. Over and over, the cracking of his ribs necessary if he truly wants to get to the soft organ beneath. Pressing his mouth to Lance's own, he blows in a strong burst of air, willing his own life to to flow into the captain and to stick. To push away the scythe of death and crack it completely. 

 

" _C'mon._ " Keith whispers, trying ceaselessly until he fears he's doing more harm than good.

 

But then there is a sputtering and the rise of brine that slides down Lance's cheeks, a wrack of coughs following close behind. Keith quickly rolls him to his side, relief making his stomach lurch. He fears he'll throw up, that all of his desperation and fear will pour out of him onto the deck. But Lance is breathing and Keith can only run his shaky hands over his body, hoping to find no rips or tears or punctures.

 

Lance breathes heavily, sucking in as much air as possible, one of his hands shifting to rest against the wood beneath him. His fingers dig as if he could root himself here; as if he could command the ship to fly above what would have been a certain death. It takes him a short while and then he's flopping onto his back. He stares at the sky, blinking away rain and wind, before finally sliding his eyes to Keith.

 

"That was close." He whispers, voice catching against the rough walls of his throat, agitated by scratches.

 

Keith lets out a deep breath, shaking his head at Lance's ability to take whatever is thrown at them in stride, at his ability to act as if their constant battles and hardships were nothing more than blips on his map.

 

"Do I look as old as I feel?" He asks, lifting his head to see Allura beaming behind Keith's shoulder.

 

Hunk has taken the wheel but he pushes at Pidge, both of them seeming close to tears.

 

"Lance-" Keith pulls him up by the front of his shirt, "Shut up."

 

Keith  yanks him close, shoving his face into the side of his neck as if Lance could warm every crevice of his shivering body. He wraps his arms around Keith slowly, chest heaving against the effort it takes to hold himself upright, a pained sound leaving his lips with the shifting of his ribs. But they don't let go and Keith allows himself to sink into Lance until there are no more waves or thunder or lightning threatening this small haven.

 

Until it's just them, reminding each other that once again, they made it.

 

 

☼

 

  
Three weeks later Keith is leaning his elbows on the rail of the helm, listening to the gentle slap of water as they approach a city of swinging bridges and buildings carved into stone. It's dusk and the sun is hidden behind the cliffs on either side of them, only dim fragments of light shining against huge purple, blue and red hanging lanterns. The cliffs give way to smaller hills where row upon row of temples and houses sit to watch over the open sea and, therefore, every vessel that passes ignorantly in between. Oblivious to the hidden realm just beyond their nets and sails and stench. 

 

_Altea._

 

For some reason, Keith had expected it to look different.

 

He expected gleaming walls and open skies, a fortress or giant manor to accompany strewn carriages. Instead, it is shrouded in as much danger and shadow as the rest of the world. It's cool and damp, looking haunting in the middle of the ocean. But even he has to admit, it has its own beauty.

 

"We can only sail to the docks." Allura says behind him, standing with arms crossed beside Lance, "We'll have to walk the rest of the way there. There has not been an uninvited ship on these shores in generations."

 

For someone who's seeing their home for the first time in years, Keith assumed she'd be a bit more excited. She glances at him, eyes flashing and brows furrowed, before looking back to the watery passage in which they sail.

 

The city is slightly louder beside them as people rush to the ledges of the cliffs to look down; to study them.

 

Keith marvels at the speed in which they were able to arrive, cutting weeks upon weeks of travel into a mere three. As if the ocean had been testing them, as if they were led by a guiding hand, they made the rest of the journey with no wicked storms to cause delay. He looks back at Lance, running his eyes over his broad shoulders and the skin peeking from behind a silky white shirt. The sea almost took him away, somewhere Keith couldn't follow and he promised then that he wouldn't let it happen again. Be it to the storm or to strange lands or mad kings, Keith would keep him safe. Watching him now, Keith remembers the promise and he holds to it, keeps it within the forefront of his mind.

 

"Will they let us speak?" Lance asks, oblivious to the selfishness of Keith's own thoughts.

 

"I don't know." Allura is quiet, glancing at the shadows playing on the rocks.

 

Keith glances up, watching the sway of a wooden bridge as young children run along it, trying to keep up with their ship. They pass from one bridge to another, some higher and some lower, a maze to a foreigner's eye.

 

Lance sighs and gives the wheel to Allura, trusting her to lead them safely to the intended destination.

 

"What should we expect?" He calls back to her, watching his crew as they point and whisper, eyes reflecting the purple sparks of light fluttering above them.

 

The lights fly and disappear only to reappear moments later in a completely new spot. For a moment, they remind Keith of the insects in the forest outside of Ilarath.

 

"It's been years, Lance." Allura says, "We just have to remain cautious. They could deny us just as easily as they could welcome us."

 

Keith helps Hunk tie off the rope on the dock, keeping the ship steady as the others depart. Lance orders the rest of the crew to remain on the ship, to wait for word. They grumble but otherwise sit and lounge, distrust passing across their weathered faces.

 

"Do you think it's a long walk?" Pidge asks, stepping up beside Keith.

 

He looks toward the path ahead, grimacing at the stretch of steep cobble and rock, "I'd say yes."

 

And it is, intense enough to make their legs burn and quake even after all they've been through. They climb with only sparse torches standing tall to light their path, passing streets filled with spiced smoke, the likes of which remind Keith so much of the Desert it almost makes him falter. But Hunk nudges his back and he moves on, avoiding the stares and hissing whispers of those that wait in the misty shadows. Light bounces off of the fog but he can spot the occasional face; tattoos covering an array of skin, sharp pointed weapons held tightly on shoulders, children grinning with wild abandon.

 

Some of the locals take steps forward, as if they were drawn to Allura like a moth to flame. But they're always pulled back by unseen hands, warnings falling across lips in a seamless language. 

 

"Stop." Allura says, suddenly holding out a hand.

 

She carries no dagger or sword, not even one of her trusted guns seem to be resting against her hip.

 

The temple they stop before is larger than any other Keith managed to spot within the sprawling cliffs, the walls steeped and carved with intricate patterns. They curve with fluidity though some remain solitary, full of a meaning Keith may never be able to understand. As though hundreds of years were spent chipping away at the rock, the triangular edges looking like they can cut. It towers far above them, so high that there's no point in searching for a roof or skyward point- it is shrouded by the same fog that keeps the city hidden away.

 

Allura clears her throat and steps forward, placing a dark hand against darker stone. For a long while, nothing seems to happen. There is no bright light, no spark or whoosh of magical air. Her eyes fall shut only once and Keith looks for any sign that she's in danger, hurt or somehow influenced by something. 

 

 _This is not the same._ Keith reminds himself,  _Lotor is not here._

 

And then the door is opening with ease, a groan filling the cliffs, bouncing and echoing like the howls of the Volivix. A figure stands before them the moment the hidden door slides away, hood pulled high, robes looking both light and armored all at once. The silver material rests on the ground beside bare feet, kept clean by what could only be polished stone. Keith raises a brow when a torch is lit with a soft snap of fingers, the warmth spreading across the stranger's face. A heavy book slip from his hands and drops with a thunk onto the ground.

 

Allura lets out a breath, as if relieved, before striding forward to wrap her arms around him.

 

"I hoped it would be you to answer." She laughs, though it wavers, "It's been much too long, Coran."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I'm going to try to upload the next two chapters between tomorrow night and Saturday.  
> Thank you for being patient! 
> 
> I've been working on another story, filled with my own OC's and stuff, that I want to publish someday. I tend to neglect other things when I work on it but i'm going to try to be better at getting these chapters up for you all quicker than I have been :)


	19. Chapter 19

 

Coran chatters, his voice boisterous but strangely welcome against the damp glistening walls of stone. Keith spots fragments of crystal, shining just enough to let off molten silver light, the likes of which bounce against clothes and hair and skin. He wants to reach out and touch one, to feel whatever ounce of magic he can until it flows through his entire body but one scathing look from Allura has him pulling back.

 

"It's not that easy, you know!" Coran is saying, copper mustache twitching in a smile, "The Mynea are good spirited creatures but they'll just as easily pull your sails and sink you for fun!"

 

Keith raises a brow, trying to pictures the creatures Coran seems so passionate about.

 

"Pull?" Hunk questions, "How could they reach them?"

 

"They jump, of course!" Coran laughs again, turning just enough to illuminate the side of his face with his torch, "Ah, here we are. I have to warn you, Alfor is a fair ruler but a ruler just the same. He can strike as easily as any pirate. And it's his decision alone that decides if you stay or not. There is only so much I can do." He casts a quick glance at Allura but otherwise says nothing else.

 

Instead, he places the flame in a silver notch on the wall before fiddling with the keys on his belt, shuffling through them quicker than Keith can keep up with. It slides into a seemingly solid piece of stone, the center sparking and clicking as if placed inside of a heavy molten lock.

 

The room is glowing when they enter and like the stars spread out so long ago in Pidge's bungalow, each crevice of stone pulses with barely contained luster. The floor reflects the ceiling, the black marble seeming to capture the night sky beneath their very feet. It creates a strong illusion of walking among the cosmos, of stepping through the expanse of time. Patches of pearl and opal, amethyst and sapphire shift and glow like water trapped beneath ice. The same lights that Keith spotted hovering around the city now appear to be a form of lantern, the towering ceilings so high they are free to float up and down in gentle motion.

 

Keith doesn't know where to keep his sights, even when Lance places a gentle hand on his lower back, his excitement radiating to Keith from his fingertips. But what soon catches Keith's attention above all else is the man seated just behind a large stone slab, his seat risen but not overpowering. The throne is the same material as the floor, the surface smooth and dark, colors shifting beneath two dark brown hands.

 

Keith had only been in the presence of one Emperor and to say it had a lasting impression would be an understatement. Lotor was cruel by the curl of his lip, by the shadows running along his jaw and the flowing cape resting upon his shoulders. Keith feels unease spill into his gut, remembering the grit of Lotor's voice and the pleasure shown from his sadistic desires.

 

But where Lotor was a ruler of something putrid, of everything decayed and wrong, Alfor was just the opposite.

 

He was shrouded in light.

 

"Allura." He breathes, the tilt of his voice catching in a show of raw emotion, of unconditional love between parent and child, "You've come home."

 

Keith looks between the two of them, realization seeping in like tree sap. He notices the way Allura carries herself, as if reflecting both her time at sea and her time here; regal and full of mystique. He wonders if this is what Lance meant about secrets.

 

About her decision to keep them.

 

Alfor's hair rests in thick silver waves against his shoulders, the color similar to that of Allura's own. He bears no crown and houses no flag but Keith supposes he doesn't need to, not when power radiates from him so freely. It practically rolls off of him, similar to the mist outside. 

 

"Not of my own accord." Allura finally replies, eyes glancing between Coran and her father as if the other could jump in and steer every bit of attention away from herself.

 

Alfor winces, feeling the words like the edge of a sharp blade. He only looks at her for a moment longer, giving her a chance to say something more, before turning to the rest of them.

 

"What brings you here?" He tilts his head, fragments of opal glistening behind him.

 

His voice has become a bit rougher, any trace of wistful hope buried deep. He pauses on each of them, no doubt spotting their burns and scars and ink covered skin. Of Keith's marred cheek and Lance's hand, twitching toward his belt and the sword resting there like a beacon. A clear indication that he's from the water, a thief and a killer and a man full of his own rage. Keith waits, wondering if Allura would spare them from giving an explanation. But she doesn't move, save for the flickering reflection of light in her eyes.

 

"We come with need for aid." Keith suddenly says, taking the tense silence as an excuse to step forward. An excuse to plea, if only because he knows it may be the only way, "I was told the druids could help."

 

Alfor hesitates before leaving his seat, walking forward until he can lean in close; until Keith can see the crescent tattoo just beneath his eye like one would a fossil embedded onto a seashell. He tries not to back away, to simply let the man gauge him, to make his own conclusions. Alfor hums and stands tall, eyes catching on the medallion clasped against Lance's throat.

 

"Who sent you?"

 

"A woman-" Keith glances at Pidge, "Great Leader, from the city of Virin in the Northern Forests. They housed the people of Ilarath, gave them refuge after the destruction of their city."

 

"And where is this Great Leader?" Alfor asks, turning to make his way back to the throne, "Why should I listen to you? Believe you?"

 

Pidge makes a pained sound, like the breath in her lungs was being squeezed from between her ribs, "Great Leader remained with my people until the end. She battled the flames, held hope that someone would make it here, to _you._ "

 

Alfor looks to Coran, though if it's for confirmation or question, Keith can't tell.

 

"A large majority of the forest was burnt to the ground. Many lives have been lost." Keith explains, "I was captured and sent to execution by the late Emperor's son. _Lotor._ " He spits the name.

 

The moment Alfor hears it his expression darkens, jaw clenching when he takes a seat at the table before the throne. Keith sees it then, the way he could transition from someone desperate for peace to something powerful enough to bring that peace to its knees. As if he has known more than any of them the executions and forests decimated by the hand of a mad king. 

 

That he knew this day would come.

 

"I'm listening." He nods, brows furrowing with the cupping of his hands, "Now tell me everything."

 

 

☼

 

 

"You will stay here." Coran says, leading them to a building on a sloping cliffside.

 

The city has settled for the night and the only light to guide their path is now that of the moon. Petunia has run ahead, though she glances back occasionally to stare at Keith, as if telling him to be careful. Her fur bristles with any sudden noise, feathers fluffing when an Altean child runs too quickly from the mists, their red hair braided against small shoulders. But Keith knows she won't attack. Not without his order.

 

The Inn is small but otherwise vacant, the shutters clipped from weathered nights and hot days but providing a decent shelter all the same. Coran waits outside, watching as they shuffle in after having alerted the rest of the crew. Keith leans against the wall, watching as Allura turns to speak to him, her voice low and guarded. It's a short conversation but Keith can see the stiffness in her shoulders falter the moment Coran's comforting hand finds her shoulder. It's a familial touch, one that Keith had received from Shiro on many nights in the desert; when Keith had fought with other kids or there wasn't enough food for a full meal, before he could slip out of the door after a nightmare or a sand storm was approaching from the East. He stares at Coran's hand before ripping his eyes away, knowing he should give them their privacy.

 

Only after she makes her way to the inn does Keith look back, noticing that Coran is set on returning to the temple.

 

Keith runs to catch up to him, grabbing fast to his arm, "When will I begin?"

 

They'd spent hours relaying each trek of this journey to the druid king and though Keith briefly mentioned his flame, Alfor had been adamant that they could help. His eyes had held to Keith and he'd tried not to squirm, wondering if the man saw the X on his cheek and wanted nothing more than to throw him back to the sea. But now, so close to that promised help, Keith has grown desperate.

 

Coran's expression darkens as he turns, the look rather strange on his otherwise joyous face, "It's best if you have patience."

 

"I am-"

 

" _Patience._ " He nods, pulling his arm free. "The time will come."

 

Keith watches him go, his form slowly swallowed by the heavy mist. It settles on Keith's skin like light dew, settling on his lashes and the tips of his hair before strong arms wrap around his waist. 

 

"We should sleep." Lance says beside him, the usual blue of his eyes shadowed in a dark indigo.

 

Keith sighs and turns in his arms until he can close the short distance between them. Their lips meet in unison, something soft and grounding; something Keith needs to feel compared to the whirlwind threatening each gutter of his mind. Lance traces his fingertips against Keith's cheek, across the scar and toward his ear, like the fluttering of a breeze. His hand settles against the back of Keith's neck and it's warm enough to make Keith shudder, breath hitching. Lance smirks against Keith's lips, feeling him shuffle ever closer.

 

"I can think-" Keith breathes, pulling away only to tug against Lance's coat a moment later, "of something better to do than _sleep_."

 

Lance's smirk morphs into a grin before he glances back to the entrance of the Inn, "Yeah? Want to beat me there?"

 

He takes off almost immediately, leaving Keith slightly taken aback before he simply shakes his head, bursting through the door seconds after.

 

 

☼

 

  
"I've sent for the Flag." Lance says, holding a stein to his lips.

 

The tavern is as shadowed as the city, carved and chipped like a crafted piece of art. Keith runs his hands over the wall, watching the faded pulse of light beneath his fingers; dim but there all the same. A contained magic rests here, surpassing that of the Great Leader's on all accounts of protection.  

 

"Don't like the Inn?" Keith asks, turning to sit next to him at the bar.

 

People litter the room, draped in dusky cloaks and hoods, in clothes Keith would feel stifled in if he wore them himself. None of them speak louder than hushed voices, seeming wary that their words could carry against the cool draft flowing from within the stones. Keith regards them carefully but even he can't deny the grace in which they lounge. As if the stars had floated down, taken root and sprouted these people hidden from the rest of the world, everything about them differs. Just like Allura's ears, all of theirs are slightly pointed and laced with either tattoos or thin chains; shapes of celestial objects rest on cheeks and temples and chests.

 

Their language, while giving them a similar accent to Keith's own, remains ancient.

 

Powerful.

 

"I've missed my rum." Lance shrugs, sliding a drink closer to Keith, "And I've missed my ship."

 

"Me too." Keith admits, "And we'll need it if we're going to fight."

 

Lance watches Keith take a gulp of beer, "Do you think it will be on the sea?"

 

"Maybe."

 

"Then we'll have the advantage." Lance chuckles, tearing his eyes away, "We might even have our serpent friend following close behind."

 

"I think it'd drown us just as quickly as that dragon, Lance."

 

He smirks, as if confident in the beast and its animalistic judgement, "Stranger things have happened, love."

 

 

☼

 

 

"We have to do it!"

 

"Pidge-" Allura rubs at her temples, "it's not so easy. And we've just arrived-"

 

"Who cares about easy?" Pidge scoffs, pulling at the cuffed pants hanging against her calves.

 

Keith has found himself in similar apparel, the material hanging a bit loose against his skin. His shirt is loose, the beige cloth falling about his shoulders like it could slip off with a mere brush of the wind. But it never does, even if one side does slide lower than the other.

 

"Agreed." Lance folds his arms across his chest, "It'll be a long while before the Flag returns and who knows when they'll be ready to speak to Keith. Let us have a bit of fun."

 

Keith purses his lips, watching Lance roll up his pants until they rest just beneath his knees. The city, while cool and misty at night, warms beneath the sun in small increments. He can feel a bead of sweat finally slide down his back, the tickle making him pull at the front of his shirt to let in a quick breath of air. Lance glances at him, raising a brow.

 

"What?" Keith asks, eyeing the strip of fabric tied around Lance's wrist.

 

"You'll come, won't you?"

 

Keith stands and reaches for the fabric, watching as it slides free of Lance's wrist with ease. He gathers his dark hair and pulls it up, smirking when Lance's gaze follows the motion, eyes coming to rest on the damp skin of his chest. At the small mark resting there, formed by heated lips and sharp teeth. Keith nods, sighing as the open air hits the back of his neck.

 

Allura glares, defeat quickly overtaking her hope when Hunk simply shrugs, a sheepish smile lighting his face at the thought of the adventure awaiting just feet away.

 

But Keith can't spot any ounce of disinterest or discontent on her face an hour later when the sprinkling blue waves hit her bare feet, most splashing against the thin piece of carved wood gliding atop the water like a bird among the clouds. A silver sail, cut similar to that of a fan, catches the wind to propel them forward. Keith races beside Lance, watching as his hair whips about his face and his shirt rides up, showing off sun-kissed brown skin, littered with scars and flexing with his breaths.

 

For this moment, Keith relishes in the lighthearted feel of the air. There is no threat at their backs and Pidge doesn't look haunted, Keith doesn't feel the sting of the whip or the burn on his cheek. There is only the sun and the water. 

 

There is only them. 

 

"Watch out for the-!" Coran suddenly shouts, cresting a tall wave with a loud scream.

 

He flies into the air a moment later, arms flailing, before hitting the water with a harsh smack.

 

Allura shouts from ahead, her silver hair pulled free from the braid that had been resting on her back. Keith can't catch what she says before he spots the dark forms racing beneath the waves, tails pushing them to ride alongside their boards. He wants to warn her to move but one of the creature's is already leaping into the air, its dark scales glistening against the sunlight.

 

It twirls, large eyes catching sight of the rest them before it arcs high above Allura's head. She watches it carefully but another rises just as fast, leading a path for more to swarm. Allura pulls at the sail, her strong arms forcing it away from the threat of the long horn protruding from the front of the creature's head. Keith remembers Coran's warnings but if these are the Mynea he spoke of, he thinks the man may have been mistaken.

 

He thinks that they simply want to swim and jump in the wake of their waves, to act like the cubs of a desert cat, full of play and curiosity. Though moments later, one speeds out of the water beside him. He has no time to maneuver away before it's jaws are opening and it is pulling at the sail, tearing it almost completely in two. Keith shouts as the board tilts, causing the soles of his feet to slip. He hits the water hard, feeling the burn in his nose like dry sand before resurfacing in sputters. Lance is laughing, his head thrown back toward the sky.

 

Keith considers flipping Lance over himself, saving the Mynea the trouble, but it seems he doesn't need to.

 

Lance's arms spin as he falls backward, his own silver sail flying in tatters into the wind.

 

 

☼

 

  
That night, when the city is once again shrouded in mist, Coran finds Keith resting on an outcropping of rock. It sprouts from the side of the cliff in a flat edge, big enough for his arms to rest beneath his head as a cushion though his bare feet remain brushed by open wind. He had been staring at the clouds as they shadow the moon, letting only thin beams of light through to the water below. Lance, the last time he'd checked, was busy exploring the city with Hunk and Pidge.

 

 _It may seem like a home to ghosts,_ Lance had laughed, gazing at the swinging bridges with blossoming curiosity, _but every city has a spark for trouble._

 

"Keith." Coran holds out his hand, offering him an easy way up, "I think it'd be best if you come with me."

 

"Where?"

 

A rare wind, one cold enough that it makes Keith wonder if it was carried from Virin itself, brushes against their hair. It pushes at Coran's cloak, at the sea grass sitting green and tall on either side of them.

 

Something serious settles between them, something that makes Keith's pulse race.

 

"Alfor would like to speak with you." Coran reaches further, urging him to stand, "Aren't you ready for some answers?"

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

The room echoes.  
  
Keith tries to stop the tapping of his foot, each little pat drifting to the formless figures standing against the walls but he just can't seem to keep still. Coran remains close by, the scraping of a quill against parchment pricking against his ears enough to make them itch.  
  
"The flame."  
  
Keith looks away from the floor and meets Alfor's eyes, confused. "I-"  
  
"Where is your flame?"  
  
"I can't-" Keith clears his throat, "I don't know. It was...sealed. Hidden away."  
  
"Sealed?" Alfor glances at the hooded figure beside him, "We'll work to undo it."  
  
"That easily?" Keith feels a flash of excitement at the thought of the returning heat, of it boiling and churning inside of him.  
  
"Easy?" Alfor sighs, "Of course not."  
  
"It will be quite painful, actually." Coran speaks up, setting the parchment against his knee. "It may not work, in the end."  
  
Keith shakes his head, "It has to."  
  
"It _will_." Alfor nods once, in both solidarity and determination, "We'll make sure of it. But first, it's important that you realize why it is you have this gift."  
  
The druids remain still, their hoods shadowing any expression but Keith feels them all the same. Like a buzzing of energy, they watch in time with each of Keith's movements; as if they were already working to open his veins. He glances at them, wondering if they could do more, if they could hear what it is he's thinking.  
  
What he's feeling.  
  
"It's a wondrous gift!" Coran smiles, "But it can be disastrous. If used by the wrong hand, it could do much more harm than good. While a large majority of people can perform their own tricks, carry their own magic, that of fire is an ancient lineage. It must be tamed if you wish to survive it."  
  
"And it's very rare." Alfor adds, finally moving to stand. He walks slowly, letting a large hand drift against the table beside him. "It was good that your parents sent you so far away. That they saw the spark in you and didn't let you fall into the hands of Zarkon. And you've mentioned your brother, yes? The same blood, though corrupted, runs through his veins."  
  
"My parents?" Keith straightens, not liking the reminder of Shiro, "You knew them?"  
  
Alfor grows quiet, pain crossing his features like a coil released.  
  
Keith furrows his brows, "If you knew them, then-"  
  
"Everyone knew them." Alfor looks away as if he were trying to ward off something sour, something bitter or putrid, "Zarkon had been close to both of them when the world was still in peace. But your father," He meets Keith's gaze, "your father and he were _brothers_ , Keith."  
  
The news makes Keith sick, his guts twisting into nausea the moment the words leave Alfor's mouth.  
  
"We had treaties and meetings, patched up the lands ravaged by wars of old. Worked together to help the crystals grow, to aid the natural order in returning to a rightful balance. You may not want to believe Lotor but he is right about one thing-"  
  
Keith stands with a loud push of his chair, strands of dark hair falling loose against his face from the cloth tied at his neck, "No."  
  
The revelation pours in like molten oil. It coats Keith's blood, sticks to his bones, forces him to take in the truth even if he wants nothing more than to throw it away.  
  
Coran pushes a large bundle of parchment toward Keith, urging him to look at the etchings. Done by a careful hand, details were spread with miraculous gift. He could see the castle, though the flags bore a different symbol; one of a white blade, proud and strong.  
  
Before he can look at more, he pushes the papers away.  
  
"Your family was on the Northern throne Wreatia, in the realm of Vulan. We were allies, close friends even. They would send us import and we would help their people, bringing them to health and curing almost any wound. But nothing could prepare us for what was to come." Alfor glances at Keith's hands, watching as they begin to shake, "Zarkon liked to travel. To explore ancient sites, bringing home artifacts for his wife Honerva to study. Their land was even further North, where the snow would never melt. But they'd made it their home and Zarkon seemed to have no qualms about the title of Prince, of his secondary placement after your father was crowned. Though, Honerva got sick with a rare disease, the likes of which would have killed both herself and the child she carried within months. I did all that I could, gathered every last druid to find the source and force it away from her body. To no avail, the sickness only got worse. So, Zarkon became desperate to find a cure. And one place, so hidden it should have never been found, eventually opened up before him."  
  
"Calipherial." Coran pushes another piece of parchment toward Keith, finger pointing to an etched image of a man with wings for arms, "Half harpy, half mage, the last of his kind found deep within the mountains. Zarkon had stumbled upon his burial chamber, lost to a war that occurred millennia ago. But there were rumors, myths and legends passed through the centuries of a creature that could help any weary traveler and he followed it like a man in search of eternal life."

  
"Calipherial." Keith repeats the name, voice seeming to come from outside of his body.

  
Alfor nods, "One of the first to harness the power of our world, to understand the function of the crystals and the balance they bring. He taught his findings to anyone who would listen, urging them to find the spark within their solar plexus, to harness what he said was always ours for the taking. But his intentions were wrong. Twisted. Corrupt."

  
"Evil." Coran adds, "He searched too deeply into the darker aspects, found solace in the void. It brought to light his need for control, for people to listen to him. To see him as a god where once he was nothing more than a lone creature."

  
"This same evil latched onto Zarkon the moment he stepped inside of the burial chamber. It changed him. Warped him until his darkest thoughts came to the forefront and would never leave. He found that if he pushed himself, if he strained, the shadows would only wrap around him tighter. But with this new power he gained knowledge. Knowledge that led him to the crystals, to the magic he could use for himself. He found a way to drain the crystals, to thrust the corruption and shadows into the beating heart of another until it binds all of their thoughts to the dark. To him."

  
"My parents...he killed them for pride. For power." Keith mutters, fingertips digging crescent moons into his palms, "My father's own blood, his _brother_ , slayed him."

  
"It broke your mother's heart." Alfor's own voice wavers, "But she ordered your brother to follow the evacuations toward the south, to the wastelands that would eventually wrap you up in safety. To hide you away forever. When Zarkon's army invaded Wreatia, every soldier fought for your parents and they still fell. And your mother, when she saw that all hope was lost, she adorned her dragon before trying to burn her own kingdom to the ground. To stop what Zarkon had begun. I was severely injured myself but I saw her final stand. I saw the way her eyes lit with flames, desperate enough to decimate the man who betrayed them."  
  
"And she lost." Keith falls back into his chair, legs having lost all strength, "She still lost."  
  
"Zarkon thrust the shadow into her dragon, forcing it to turn on her, to land and send the flame onto her own body even if it wanted to refuse. Even if it fought within itself to save her instead. Its screams shattered us" Coran says, quiet and careful, "Your mother fought to the end."  
  
"We have to help my brother." Keith blinks away the tears, feels himself push aside his shock and pain to pursue what still needs to be done, "You can get that shadow, the corruption, out of him. Right? It's just like poison so it should be easy to get out-"  
  
"Only if he's brought here." Alfor says, "And that seems to be very unlikely."  
  
"We have to try!" Keith shouts, his entire body beginning to shake at the thought of dragons and his parents and kingdoms burning to ash, "You couldn't save my parents. You _couldn't_. But you have the chance to save my brother now- to save their son!"  
  
Coran sighs, "Your parents sacrificed everything to save _you_ , Keith."  
  
"I won't do anything without my brother." Keith stands again and places his hands on the table, shoulders taught with barely restrained panic, "I will fight no mad kings without him by my side."  
  
"You must-"  
  
"I won't!" Keith turns with another shout, pupils blown wide the second he finds Alfor's gaze.  
  
It's quiet for a long moment. Long enough for Keith to feel a sob rack his body but he pulls it back, restrains it with a heavy breath through his nose, "Find my flame, save my brother. And then I will fight."  
  
The druids shift closer when Alfor nods, the action quick. He folds his burly arms against his chest, silver brows shadowing the crest of his eyes, "The fire is an ancient art. It's powerful. But there is hope that you can control it like those before you. Just as your father did."  
  
"Lance's power is strong as well." Keith finally mentions, "I've seen him split waves in two, battle hurricanes and sink ships to the deep without much trouble."  
  
Alfor hums, "Certain families hold more power than others, their origins dating to the time of Calipherial. Before Zarkon started harvesting the crystals, he hunted these families. He either forced them to join his ranks or slaughtered them down to the very last child."  
  
Lance's sullen face surfaces in Keith's mind, wracked with guilt and the memory of his parents casting him to the sea. He recalls the haunted look in his eye after the merfolk attacked and the way he wakes up shaking in the night, whispering of drowning tides. It makes Keith's breath stutter.  
  
"He's tamed his power all on his own, yes?" Alfor doesn't need a confirmation from Keith before he continues, "As children, we are meant to explore this magic inside of us. Our guardians are supposed to help us find it and tame it. These days, most swells of magic like yours can only be awakened by something catastrophic, by a violent brush with an element in a time of great torment. Yet Lance's magic is still tempestuous, isn't it? He has had only the waves and the tides to guide him. This reflects in his power, in the wild heart beating within his chest. Even Altea has heard stories of the Black Flag and its captain. We have heard of his rage."  
  
Coran looks away from Alfor and nods in agreement, eyes catching on Keith's chest, "And your flame was awakened by the lightning, yes?"  
  
"I was struck." Keith says, remembering the state in which his body had resided after the bolt traveled through him, "I shouldn't have survived."  
  
"And yet you did." Alfor smiles, a cautious tilt of his lips, "You also have the medallion."  
  
Keith nods, almost disbelieving that he'll finally understand the meaning of it. Its been dormant for so long, a simple thing that he'd been drawn to endlessly.  
  
"If restored, it can complete a set of five. Set into the stone of Wreatia, the likes of which has retained its form since all creation, they will keep the void and beings like Calipherial from hurting this world. They are each a form of pure energy: Earth, Air, Water, Fire and Spirit. Lotor no doubt wants the final medallion, the flaming heart, to complete the set. To finally corrupt them entirely, until all life is locked within his grasp."  
  
"What could he possibly do with that much destructive power?" Keith sneers.  
  
Alfor winces, "Anything. The power of the crystals and the stream of life surrounding us would be under his control. All magic would be sucked away from our veins and replaced in his. Though if it is _your_ hand that replaces the medallion, or that of your brother, the corruption can be cleansed. The planet can heal."  
  
"And this is how I'm supposed to defeat him?" Doubt rises in Keith, lashing against the warring urge to stride away. To run. Because if they win, if all is said and done and Shiro cannot be saved, Keith will be stuck in an unavoidable position. "I don't want the throne."  
  
He says it like a child. Not rotten or full of complaint; simply full of fear. Fear of the entrapment this fate would entail; of his distance from the sea. Of his distance from Lance.  
  
"You can't turn away now." Alfor glances at the druids again, motioning with a flick of his wrist for them to step forward, "And you will not be fighting this war alone, Keith. Along with your captain and those who remember your parents, we finally have a chance. I will not let it go to waste."  
  
Several druids glide forward as if they were suspended on air, their hands grasping at Keith's arms and hands. A cold touch settles on his wrist and he tries to back away, to put some distance between them but the druids latch on like tightening rope. For a moment Keith assumes they'll start the process themselves. That their fingers will coax his flame out and that'll be the end of it, their seemingly otherworldly power strong enough to make it fast.  
  
But then they are parting to allow someone else through the fray. They don't glide and their steps are heavy, shoulders tense beneath a newly colored robe. One of stormy silver, lined with golden symbols and hanging crystal, they give off a power completely different from the others. Stronger, fiercer and somehow louder, Keith can feel the energy wafting from them the second they step close.  
  
And finally, Keith catches a glimpse of who resides beneath, her hair resting against her shoulders in brilliant white waves.  
  
Allura lifts her eyes and raises a hand, ignoring Keith's confusion, to press cool fingertips against his forehead.  
  
When his eyes roll and his body thrusts backwards, all he can see is light.

 

☼

 

When Coran said it would be painful, Keith never thought it would feel like this.  
  
As if a plug had been pulled, every cell in his body has come alive like lightning popping from the ground. The seal on his wrist shines bright, wave after wave of red hues and beams wrapping and writhing against his skin before pushing deep into the flesh.  
  
_It will come._ The man had said, his shop and deep voice resurfacing from the shadow of Keith's memories, _And you cannot run from it.  
_  
But Keith wants desperately to run. He wishes to pour ice into his throat, to sprint head first into the coldest waves, to return to the sea and sail far away. Because Keith is no prince. Alfor is wrong, Great Leader was mistaken and Keith wants to believe these thoughts more than anything.  
  
He's just a boy from the desert, full of sand in the crevices of his ribs, the blood of a fallen bird stained upon his hands. He's a brother and a thief and a pirate.  
  
But more than all of this lashing inside of him, more than the arch of his back against the stone slab the druids have placed him on or the breath stuttering within his throat, is the pain of his past that begins to hurt him the most. It surges forward like a tsunami, wrecking every inch of him until all he can see is the parents that were stolen from him; until all he can feel is the hand of his brother leading them away from a terrible fate.  
  
He is torn apart, knowing that time will no longer make these memories bearable or obsolete.  
  
This alone is what makes him fear that he will never return from where the druids have sent him. The images in his mind toss and turn until they conjoin and become a hulking mass of noise and light and movement.  
  
Yet, in the end, the heat is what brings him back. Again and again he is ripped from his thoughts as if a hand had reached inside of him and yanked, until all he knows is the echo of his own screams in the temple.  
  
It continues on for what seems like days, the seal Great Leader put on him proving to be a deep one. One that would keep Lotor from sensing his power but ultimately trapping it too, letting it build up until the time came for it to explode. He screams and thrashes, hears murmuring voices, understands in short bursts of clarity that Allura watches over him like some guardian.  
  
It lasts a lifetime before, _finally_ , his breath returns to him with blessed frigidity. Cool air flows into him through his nostrils, replacing the pain until it starts to settle within the depths of his lungs. Gasping and choking, he sits up fast enough to make the druids stumble away, sparks of strange light leaving his fingers and palms in violent bursts. Some hit the far wall, knocking off several torches, while others singe at robes and drapery. He reaches out to grasp at Allura's sleeve, smelling more than seeing the way it turns to ash. The tattoos on her skin pulse but she doesn't move away, even when blisters start to form, her body shaking as if electrified.  
  
A druid steps forward to pull her away but she hisses out a word, throat bobbing against the pain.  
  
"I'm sorry." She says to Keith, finally thrusting him out of his stupor. He wrenches his hand back, horrified that he let himself touch her at all, "I...I heard everything. And if anyone could get that fire back it had to be me. It _had_ to. My magic is strongest in these isles."  
  
Nodding, Keith looks up at her through wet lashes. His hair is damp and his cheeks flushed, lips bleeding from a previous coughing of blood.  
  
"This is why I left." She whispers, meeting Keith's wild eyes before pushing a stand of hair away from his sweaty face, ignoring the heat with a determined clench of her jaw. "I didn't want to become trapped, locked within this temple for the rest of my days. I was old enough to remember my mother, the way she left the temple and this city for the first time to aid in the battle against Zarkon. But she never came back. Her entire life she was here, doomed to stare at the horizon without ever racing after it. I didn't want to make the same mistake. To become one of them."  
  
Keith glances at the druids, their faces as shrouded in mystery as ever, before letting his eyes fall to his arms. A familiar pulse travels beneath his skin, pumped by the blood travelling to and from his heart.  
  
"Is it-" He winces, hearing the shake in his voice, "Is it finished?"  
  
"For now." Alfor steps forward, the silver lining of his cloak brushing the stone, "But first you must gauge how the power feels inside of you."  
  
"How?" He asks, voice scratchy and dry.  
  
"Lift your hands." Allura says softly, moving in front of Keith to replace the image of her father.  
  
Keith hesitantly obeys before she rests her palms atop his. He tries to pull away but she doesn't let him, the tattoos on her temples glowing even brighter than before. An eyebrow twitches from whatever pain she must feel but this time, surprisingly, her skin does not burn. Concentration sits heavy in the air.  
  
"I don't believe it's a simple flame." She says quietly, quickly meeting Keith's eyes, "While it's hot, it's almost too electric. Too energized."  
  
Coran shuffles closer, "Does it feel similar to the moment he was struck? You said that when you tended to his body, you felt something akin to static."  
  
Allura nods, ignoring Keith's questioning gaze, "I did. But this is different. Stronger."  
  
"I can feel it." Keith speaks up, mind slowly catching up with the rest of his body, "I'm starting to feel..."  
  
"What-"  
  
"New." He interrupts Coran, "I feel new. Refreshed. _Alive_."  
  
Druids tilt their heads and once again, all too suddenly, Keith feels studied. He feels like an insect beneath a spyglass, ready for dissection. He forces himself to his feet, gently pushing away Allura's hands with a grunt. Muscles contract and cramp before settling once again, giving him the energy to back away.  
  
Alfor frowns, "You need to rest-"  
  
But Keith is already trying to walk away. A bit wobbly but stubbornly determined, he wants nothing more than to quell his mind. To think about the heap of information and revelations, the memories that had returned to him with violent force. Or maybe he needs a moment to let all the emotions drift and release, until he doesn't feel so damn claustrophobic.  
  
Either way, he knows he needs to find Lance.

 

☼

 

Keith strides from the temple, ignoring Allura and Coran's pleas for him to slow. He knows he can't rest, not when an entire day has passed; not when the energy inside of him is refreshed and buzzing loud enough to make his legs shake. He finds his way to the tavern, pushing the doors open with a huffing breath. Sounds reach his ears faster than the smell of fresh alcohol and beer. He looks around, noticing the way voices rise and fall against each other, the way a spicy smoke hovers in the air. Different from the first time he'd visited this tavern, the atmosphere has seemingly evolved into something lively. Something mildly dangerous.  
  
Spotting Lance almost immediately, Keith also catches sight of the medallion hanging against the dark skin of his chest. His shirt is unbuttoned and his hair is wild, as if he'd just come to port from the sea. Keith shivers when Lance finally sees him, entire face morphing into shock and relief. He strides forward and pushes Keith back until they're leaving the tavern completely, no words spoken. Turning Keith to the stone wall, Lance keeps him there, eyes traveling the length of his body in search of injury.  
  
"I'm fine." Keith winces, suddenly wanting to douse himself in several gallons of water. His skin feels much too dry.  
  
"Fine?" Lance raises a sharp brow, "You look like you just fought an entire fleet."  
  
A thought dawns on Keith and he glances down to watch Lance's hands trail over his skin, brushing against his hip before sliding back to his arms.  
  
"I'm not burning you?"  
  
"What?" Lance looks at Keith's face, worry returning with almost too much ease, "Are you sick? Have a fever? Do I need to-"  
  
Suddenly, with no warning at all, Keith pushes his lips onto Lance's own. Like so many times before, it feels like the rain. Like the fresh waters of Virin or the rare wind in the desert. It fills him up and makes him press even closer, reveling in the fact that Lance doesn't pull away in pain. The kiss transforms from one of quick pace to something completely soft, Keith's hand pushing into the hair at the nape of Lance's neck, holding tight.  
  
But all too soon, Lance is pulling away.  
  
"You taste like blood." He grimaces, "Not that I have a problem with that, of course. But you're acting a bit strange, Keith."  
  
"I feel different." Keith lets out a soft breath, a small smile rising to his lips. "But I'm still me."  
  
Realization falls across Lance's face in trickles, his blue eyes searching Keith's own before glancing at his hands. At the glow. But where Lance touches, there is no pain. No burning or zapping of his skin, no blistering or melting.  
  
"I have something to show you." Lance lets his fingers lace between Keith's, voice quiet. "Now that I know you're alright."

"I need to talk to you." Keith counters, "There's so much I need to say. To try to understand."

Lance nods, "Which would you like to do first?"

A soft wind blows from the sea, drifting between the buildings and into their hair. It cools Keith's damp neck, smelling of salt and sun and hot sand.

"Show me." Keith decides, more than okay with keeping Alfor's words away for just a while longer.

The buzzing electricity in his skin is lessening to a simmer when Lance leads him away from the tavern.

"We're going down?" Keith questions, looking over Lance's shoulder at the steep stone below.

"'Course we are." Lance chuckles before starting down the steps, hand slipping from Keith's.

The night is quiet the further they travel from the cliff side, until the soft splash of waves against rocks replace any hint of harsh laughter or voices.Keith is pulled to a final swinging bridge, the planks creaking beneath their boots. Keith glances over the side, watching as the water between the cliffs crest and break. Lance leads him to the docks before stopping, glancing back at him only once before motioning ahead. And there, waiting at the end of the dock, is something Keith sort of thought he'd never see again.

He feels his breath catch in his throat as the hulking mass of the Black Flag stands tall and sturdy against the moon. The sails, dark as ever, flap against the gentle breeze as if in greeting. Keith starts forward, weary of the lingering pain in his body, listening as Lance follows close behind. They travel across the ramp and onto the deck and Keith realizes that it looks just as he remembers. Down to the dents and scrapes against the metal, from fights and weathered storms. There is the scorched spot on the helm where Keith once stood, still so early in his adventure. He gulps and takes the steps to the wheel, running a palm along the smooth rail. When he rests his fingers on a peg, the metal settling against his palm, he can hardly believe it.

Lance stands behind him, a strong force to keep him from collapsing from growing fatigue. 

Still, with wonder in his voice, Keith whispers, "She's back."


	21. Chapter 21

 

"We've been trying for days." Keith says, patience wearing thin.

He glances at Lance, who's resting atop a large rock, silvery sunlight hot and steady as it filters through the mist. Leaning back, he watches Keith with sleep-ridden eyes, his promise to stay awake wearing on him quicker than expected.

"I say let loose." Lance yawns, "That's what I do."

"Let's _not_ do that." Allura snaps, her fingers playing with the hilt of a pistol from where she leans beside him. "If he messes up it could destroy more than we're prepared for. And I know you won't be the first to volunteer in cleaning up." She slides a glare to Lance.

Keith lowers his arms with a huff, feeling the heat of the sun press against his back. The peak they stand on is flat but the wind pushes against him with harsh gusts, ruffling his damp hair. "The seal must be resisting-"

"The seal is gone." Alfor says, walking forward. He's without cloak or robes and even he is sweating, the creases on his face appearing much deeper. "You're the one resisting."

"I'm trying!" Keith whips around, giving his back to the group assembled to watch. The sea sprawls before him, the deep blue stretching far in every direction until it is taken over by the endless gray. "Lotor's fleet could find us at any moment and yet I've accomplished nothing."

"No one said this would be easy."

"No one mentioned it would take this long, either. We're wasting time."

"We need rest." Coran counters, stretching his arms above his head.

Alfor looks at Keith for a long moment and Allura watches her father, both debating what to do. In the end, Alfor can only offer Keith a hand on his shoulder, voice quiet as he tells Keith that they can try again tomorrow. He listens to them walk away, boots crunching on rock and sand, the likes of which slide in their wake.

Keith shakes his head, frustration sitting heavy. If it were up to him they would be storming Wreatia by sunset; he'd be taking Lance's advice in a heartbeat, letting loose all of his anger and fear until his flame returns with brute force.

"Are you coming?" Lance asks, voice soft, interrupting Keith's foolish thoughts.

Gulls fly overhead, their shrill calls echoing against the jagged, towering rocks below.

"I'm not tired."

Lance sighs and slides his hands around Keith's abdomen, taking a deep breath that settles the two of them into synced rhythm. "Then we won't sleep." He says.

Leaning back, Keith tilts his head to feel the heat of Lance's breath on his skin. "The tavern, then?"

"No." Lance chuckles, glancing toward the wispy clouds above. "We'll go to the sky."

 

☼

 

Lance sails the Black Flag high, until even the tops of the cliffs are once again shrouded and hidden away. Keith stands at the bow, rope held tight in one hand as he lets the air drift between the fingers of the other. The great engines beneath them hum and dissipate the accumulating clouds as they rise higher still, the atmosphere looking much like the rolling waves. He remembers Lance's dreamlike words from so long ago, the hope in his voice when he spoke of one day soaring into the stars. Being here now, with the captain sailing at his back and the pressure gently popping his ears, he feels as though that dream is possible.

Beams of light hit the top of the clouds, reflecting like diamond and crystal and they glitter so bright that Keith has to eventually look away. He blinks at the spots in his vision and listens to movement behind him: the latching of the wheel in place, the soft steps of his captain joining him on the deck.

"You look as if you could fly." Lance says, leaning against a post that holds up the mast.

Keith turns, feeling his hair slip from its confinement to float and drift about his face. He gives Lance an appreciative study, eyes following the seam of the coat on his shoulders and the leather of the sword on his lithe hip. His skin is flushed and his scars are as apparent as torches in the night, the contrast deep. Keith feels his chest clench and he jumps from the rail, striding to pull the boy close. Their lips brush together and their breaths mingle, sending a delicious shiver running the length of Keith's spine.

The ship remains on steady course as they soak each other in, happy to remain chest to chest as the sun begins a very slow descent.

Lance hums, letting his hands fall to Keith's waist. "You know, you'd be the first pirate to become a king on the land."

"I told him no." Keith rests his head against Lance's shoulder, smiling when their fingers lace at his side.

"Of course you did." Lance sighs, fond.

"If we make it out of this alive, I don't think I'd ever set foot in Wreatia again." Keith admits, remembering the throne room like one would a frigid layer of the underworld. As if he were cast in the depths, the late Emperor's son, his  _cousin,_ had a gaze that destroyed any hopes Keith could have had about his title. Not that there were many hopes to begin with.

"You'd be remembered." Lance says, watching as Keith lifts his head.

"Does being remembered mean that much to you?" Keith asks, trying to keep his voice from wavering. The thought of Lance leaving him, the image of him sailing away to forge a new destiny without him, is almost too much to bear.

Lance hesitates. "Most of my life it's all I've cared about. People knowing my name, fearing me, telling stories of my ship to the man who ruined my life." He lets his hand roam from Keith's waist, passing over the thin material of his shirt until his fingers can pull gently at the hair resting at his nape. "But things have changed. That isn't so important to me now. Not as much as other things." He presses a soft kiss to Keith's forehead, letting his lips linger.

Keith closes his eyes, always loving the feel of Lance, of his gentle tugs and breathy moans. Now, as they sway in time to the breeze, he just loves the way they hold onto one another. He aches for the man, always.

"Besides," Lance flicks Keith's nose, "do we really remember every cresting wave? Some things are meant to be lost to time."

Keith furrows his brows, "Your flag _will_ be remembered. Your name will be in stories whether you sit on a throne or not. You shouldn't worry about such things."

Lance smiles, though it is sad. "In the end, I'll just be known as a boy lost to the sea, Keith. I'm just a man who loved it too much."

"I love you." Keith pulls at Lance's hips until they're dangerously close. He doesn't like the look in Lance's eye, the way his voice wavers.

He lowers his eyes to Lance's lips and feels heat spark in the pit of his stomach, simmering and flaring and threatening to grow. 

They don't bother going to the cabin or the bed. Instead they settle on the helm, where the wind can brush across their naked skin to cool them when they slow. Lance lets a chorus of love fall from his lips and Keith soaks him in with newfound wonder, eyes squeezing tight, heart pounding in his chest.

He prays that this never ends.

 

☼

 

The stars are bright when they make their way back to Altea, fatigue catching up to them from hours lost to the cliffs and the sky. Keith feels his arms ache, each nerve stretched too thin from hours of practicing something that shouldn't be as hopeless as it is. His thighs ache from a different reason, though he finds he doesn't mind that so much. Yawning, he places a kiss on Lance's neck and feels his muscles shift as he turns the wheel to catch the wind.

With a content sigh, he begins to ask Lance if maybe they should let the ship dock but remain on board for sleep.

"Wait." Lance interrupts, eyes narrowing against the parting clouds as they lower to the water. "Do you see that?"

Keith perks up and instantly grabs the spyglass beneath the rail from habit, placing it against his eye to search for whatever it is Lance has spotted. They're still a few miles from Altea but he spots the ships easily, each vessel a mere speck in the distance. Yet, they are approaching all the same, a whole line of them, sailing with speed and purpose. Keith turns the spyglass and zooms to a flag, spotting a familiar symbol through the misty haze.

"We have to warn Alfor." Keith says, breathless with shock. "We have to hurry."

Lance grunts in response, already turning the wheel to catch a quick gust. They lower themselves to the ocean and hit the water with a powerful splash, the ship rocking and sending streams flying onto the deck. Keith lowers the spyglass and keeps an eye out for the cliffs instead. The cliffs are tricky to maneuver through but they manage to do so with ease, wasting no time in dropping anchor. Keith lands on the dock with a huff and runs toward the temple, cursing the steep terrain. People shout as he pushes past them, their eyes catching on the dark sails of the Black Flag before cautiously continuing on their way, no doubt still hesitant to accept that pirates are taking lodge in their home.

"Hunk!" Keith shouts, spotting the boy leaving one of the many taverns as he passes. Hunk turns, face reddened from drinks, before stumbling to catch up. Keith grabs hold of his hand and steadies him, waiting for his breath to slow before asking, "Where is Allura?"

"The tavern 'round the next street." He hiccups, blinking as if he were seeing Keith with two heads instead of one. "What's wrong with you?"

"Just follow me if you can." Keith pulls at him, mindful of the alcohol on his breath.

It's a bit tricky leading Hunk through the crowd but Keith doesn't have time to apologize for bumping into shoulders. He just continues on, knowing he can't leave Hunk wandering the city if an attack were to befall them.

They make it to the tavern moments before Allura walks out, her guns still strapped to her thighs. She startles as Keith bounds into her, pushing against him with reflex. "What the fuck is-"

"You have to warn your father." Keith pants, pointing toward the ocean, though it's impossible to see it from this deep within the city. "A fleet is on the Northern horizon, headed this way at full speed."

Her eyes widen, "Altea is hidden." She says, voice quiet, full of confusion and shock. But soon enough she is shaking away her disbelief, grabbing hold of his arm to ground herself. "Where is Lance?"

"With the Flag. No doubt gathering the crew."

She nods, "Join him and wait for word."

And then she is gone, bounding away and up the steps before disappearing into the mist completely.

"Is it Lotor?" Hunk slurs, following close behind Keith as they make their way back down.

"I couldn't tell." Keith huffs, hearing a bridge creak and swing beneath their feet as they cross. "But the flags looked familiar."

Lance is ordering the crew to the sails when they arrive, voice full of conviction and strength. A crowd has formed around their ship, many of the civilians watching with interest as the crew adorns their weapons and readies the sails. Children hang onto the thin robes of their parents, asking in hushed voices if everything is alright. Keith wishes they would leave but looking around, he isn't really sure where they could go in time to avoid a surefire attack. The thought makes him angry, practically livid at the fleet coming to destroy their peace.

"We'll meet them at sea." Lance says the moment Keith steps on board, as if reading his thoughts.

"One against a dozen?" Hunk asks, quickly sobering from the bread Pidge has given him to soak up the remaining alcohol.

"Why not?" Lance chuckles, eyes sweeping his crew. "We've survived worse odds, haven't we?"

Keith smirks, watching as Lance takes to the helm, his hands wrapping around the pegs of the wheel. He looks strongest there, with the ship at his command and a fury in his eye; burning and blazing with a blue fire, a match to the heat inside of Keith. Tearing his eyes away, Keith turns to help Pidge loosen the ropes until the the sails billow wide, casting a large shadow on the Alteans still watching from below. Though soon the crowd begins to part, each person bowing their heads in respect as Alfor approaches the ship with haste. Petunia follows close behind, looking to Keith in the creature's equivalent of betrayal, hackles risen to reveal thick fur and feathers. But Keith just speaks a lone word, ordering her to stay behind. To remain safe.

"Is it true?" Alfor asks, glancing at Allura when she passes, looking for all the world like he wants nothing more than to pull her back.

Keith nods, "They sail from the north."

Alfor's mouth is set in a grim line but he quickly turns to Coran, ordering the man to enter the cove beneath the temple, his words growing much too quiet to hear. Keith raises a questioning brow at the black patch resting over Coran's right eye as if he had read of pirates and hasn't been living among them for days. Still, he doesn't bother asking. At least the man has seemingly kept his humor even in a dire time such as this.

"We have to move." Keith says, "Or they'll be upon the cliffs in less than two hours."

"I know." Alfor nods, white hair falling around his face, "Do what you must. I'm placing my trust in you." He sweeps his gaze up to Lance before settling on his daughter, watching as she checks the powder in her gun. "All of you."

He doesn't say anything else before turning away, ordering the crowd to dissipate and find shelter in Alfor's own temple; a sanctuary to his people. Lance shouts to the crew and Keith pulls away from the rail, waiting for the lurch of the ship and the snapping of the sails in new wind. They lift anchor and breach open water in no time but Keith wishes the mist would clear sooner, wishing each push of distance between themselves and Altea would break apart the particles to let the moonlight shine.

Keith wonders if they've miscalculated the longer they sail, if they've risen false alarm and the ships were simply carrying trade. He considers the possibility that they may have been passing very close but still unsuspecting of the magical isles ahead. But then, as the last of the mist falls behind their backs, Keith spots them. Someone shouts from the crows nest and Allura stands beside Lance, a hand balancing the spyglass against her eye.

The incoming fleet floats like a wall, bulking masts holding sails and flags painted with the crest of the Emperor. 

"I don't hear wings." Pidge says from beside Keith, voice quiet and nervous. "I don't even hear voices. I don't hear anything."

Keith watches the fleet, eyes drifting from one to the other, searching for the leader. He moves to stand beside Allura and nudges her for the spyglass, gulping at a growing pit opening in his chest. The spyglass roams but he doesn't see signs of life, not from the decks to the helms, where surely someone should be steering the wheels. They are at a standstill. They are waiting for Lance to make the first move.

Opening his mouth to tell him so, Keith almost misses the flash of something dark on the front-most bow. He narrows his eye and turns the spyglass slow, until the frame can come into focus. And what he sees leaves him reeling, pulling back with a harsh, choking gasp.

Shiro stands tall from his spot across the water, thick hood gone and replaced by material made for surviving weeks on the sea. Even from this distance, Keith can recognize the way he holds his shoulders, the way his eyes seem trained upon Keith and Keith alone.

"I see no lizard from above, Cap'n!" The man from the crows nest shouts, voice echoing across the water.

And Keith lets that sink in. Without the winged beast Shiro has no chance of escaping into the air and he can't use the dragon fire as leverage, to hold his enemy at bay. Keith knows that whether Shiro likes it or not, he is no longer the one with the advantage. Because surely he's aware, somewhere deep down, that Keith isn't a lone boy from the desert anymore. He isn't just a younger brother who runs through the dunes nor is he a _prince_ with a kingdom at his disposal.

He is a pirate, with saltwater running through his veins hotter than any ancient magic.

And that alone is what he needs to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duunnn

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [Lightsaberking](https://lightsaberking.tumblr.com/)


End file.
